Upon the Wings of Eagles
by Solaris-Prime199
Summary: It is rare to find a Space Marine with a sense of Humor, but Sergeant Sigmund isn't just any Ultramarine. Set upon the Eve of Humanities greatest triumph over adversity. Within moments of completion of the Emperors greatest work. Sigmund and his men are cast from the Webway into a strange and new Galaxy. Plans within Plots abound. Set before the Horus Heresy. Rated M to be Safe.
1. Prologue

**Date Published: 23/09/2013**

**Date Re-Edited: N/A**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

+=Imperial Palace=+

+=Himalayas=+

+=222nd Sub-Level=+

+=Imperial Legion Barracks=+

+=[222.071.M31]=+

+=[14.05.05]=+

+=[mark: – 46.54.04]=+

* * *

Darkness

Silence

Contemplation

Muffled foot steps, echoed across a dim Crypt of a Chamber filled with **fallen stones**. A robed shadow approached a large hunched statue in the midst of this Tomb.

This Statue seemingly carved from **granite**, covered in **etchings** and **arcane carvings**, which seemed to flow down the **monoliths form**. The Horse-Shoe, the Double-Headed Eagle, the Crux-Terminus, all shrouded in wreaths of Ivy and the Feathered Wings of Eagles. Each and every symbol **surmounted** by **Arcane** runes, that seemed to be **alive** in the dim candle-light.

The Monastic shape – unceasing – never stops his sombre march onwards, towards the **Ancient** before his Slab of Stone. Two pin-pricks of light sparkle within the cowl of our intrepid hero, glimmering like a pair of **silver denarii** upon the eyes of the **Dead**. His foot-steps… muffled, his progress **silent** and **inexorable**, a sombre procession of **One**. He casts his head from side to side as if … **weary**, to wake the Slumbering Giants that lay within this **Tomb**. **Clasped** to his breast – almost **Lovingly** – is a small Electrum Chest (smaller than the Palm of a Cherubs Hand).

He Stops at the Foot of the Tomb behind the Silent Guardian, turns to the Granite Watcher and Utters a single word that will change the Fates of not one, but Two Galaxies. "Sigmund," speaks the Shadow, seemingly bringing the form of the Stone Guardian to Life. The Chiselled (but youthful) features of the Ancient Guardian, turns toward the sound – and with a **wolfish grin** – and asks, "have you brought it, Quartermaster?"

Above that **feral grin**, where a pair of beveled orbs, that glowed with an inner **cerulean Flame**. They sparkled with **mischief**, and a burning inner **desire** for **Knowledge**.

His gaze seemed to dim the meager light from the solitary candle, held in the right-hand of Hooded Shape. Which countenanced his **Savage** visage, it belied the beauty of the seven Aquamarine Spirals (of Celtic Braids) covering the right-hand side of his face (from Crown, to Nose, to the very tip of his Chin). All of his Tattoos originating at his right-eye Spiraling outwards and onwards, each line the culmination of innumerable Runes, of Fenrisian Origin. Each Rune on his face, much like those of his leather under-suit, seemed to writhe under the gaze of the casual observer.

"Yes, **Sergeant**," spoke the figure, seemingly making the rank sound like an insult.

"How it came to be there, in a Storage room intended for the purpose of contain gardening implements, is anyone's guess. Emperor knows **who** decided that it would be safe in the Right-hand of a small rose-quartz **Cherub**," sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The **Mountain** before him began to **rumble**, and a Chuckle (like a **landslide**) followed shortly after. He extended a hand towards the figure, and the Quartermaster placed the small Treasure in his palm, his own hand seemingly dwarfed by the shear Size and Bulk of Sergeant Sigmund. "Why Thank You, my Good Man," purred the **Mountain** known as Sigmund, "I hope this doesn't sound rude of me, but I Suggest you leave, **quickly**."

Bellow the Hood, a single eyebrow approaches unseen, the enshrouded hairline and a voice **Drenched and Dripping** with Sarcasm queries, "may I ask why, my **Lord**?"

"I am about to wake my Brothers. **Loudly**," the Sergeant responds, his tone of voice emotionless.

"I still don't-," began the Quartermaster.

"Did you notice any **caffeine** on the Counter, when you entered the room, my friend?" interrupts Sigmund.

"Er-… **Noooo**."

"Then … what do you **think** would happen, when sixteen **decaffeinated** giants Wake, to discover – like you – that their one and only **Vice** is – conspicuously absent? Said Giants, with the ability to tear Ogryns Limb from Limb?"

"What about **you** then?" the small man queried sarcastically, "why wait, to put **me** in harms way?"

"I had to wait for you to bring me the Firing-pin for my Bolter, **first**," the Sergeant replies somberly, "I am no **fool**, my Good Man. I'll only risk the **decaffeinated dead**, once I am appropriately **armed**."

A little chuckle escaped the diminutive hooded figure, "the Burden of Leadership is both Heavy **and** Dangerous."

He turns to leave and calls over his shoulder, "better **you** than **me**."

The Sergeant (smiling) turned back to his grey slab, which under the light of a single candle, turns out to be a grey blanket over a Spartan mattress. Upon the grey blanket is a dismantled weapon, its proportions are… **enormous**, but in the hands of the man before it …

**Perfection**

By some **unknown** design – by some **unknown** form of Euclidean Geometry – the **Modified, Godwyn Pattern Bolter**, was **not** just some tool, **not** merely an extension of the man. No it was a **part** of Him. He had **waited**… and now with the final penultimate piece – he would be **whole**. He opened the delicate box and removed a new firing-pin, with an air of **grace** and **dexterity** that seemed impossible for a man of his **Size**, and slid it into the Receiver. He **chuckled**, as he remembered the **look** on the face of the Quartermaster, when he had asked the poor man to walk two hundred and twenty-two paces (exactly), from the dormitory and then to enter the second door on his right.

_He would find what I would need in the hands of a Little Angel_.

_All this to project an Aura of Mystery_, he thought, _it was so-much easier before the Trial of Magnus the Red… er- I Mean the Edict of Nikea_.

Before the dissolution of the Libraries, he could have twiddled his thumbs and the citizenry would have been in **awe** of him. Now… well it required a bit more skill. A bit of **clever** paperwork, and **someone** – **accidentally** – misplacing a small **shiny** box. That would turn up in a **Mysterious Location**, that **he** had to spend a **whole afternoon** pacing to find – in the first place. Then a small note, to a **Key** member of the Administratum (key as in, "**the biggest Gossip**"), and his **Aura of Mystery** would be maintained.

_Me thinks it may have fallen a bit flat_, thought Sigmund, _perhaps (in hind sight) if I had chosen a statue that __**hadn't**__ been using its' other hand to pick its' nose – perhaps then the Aura of Mystery would been maintained. _The purpose of it all, well… he wasn't certain, just that it was of critical importance. Probably.

He would not admit that it was because he was **bored**, no he would **never** admit to that.

He would **never** admit that spending the last three weeks in this dormitory, was **boring**.

He would **never** admit that having nothing to do for those three weeks, but maintaining his war-gear, was **boring**.

He would **never** admit that the proceeding **Six Months** stranded on-board the Strike Cruiser "**Ultramars' Fury**" (which had been collecting loose elements of the XIII), was **boring**.

He would **never** admit that, but that didn't make it any less **true**.

But not **Today**.

No today **something** was going to happen, **something** they had to do. **Something** that had diverted them from their rendezvous with the rest of the XIII, and the XII, at Calth. That **something** was a Mission that had come straight from the Sigilate himself. So **something** was important, and that there was the **Problem**.

Even for an Ultramarine, his obsession with Collecting and Processing Information was at best described as 'Eccentric.' He had agreed to join the **Chapter Librarium**, instead of being sent to the **Mechanicus**, for the simple reason that he would have gotten more Knowledge from **one** than the **other **(and the fact that he could read other peoples minds may have been a factor too). Even compared to the average space marine he was unnaturally **active**. He was always **actively** preparing, always **actively** training and always **actively** hunting down the enemy. He had prepared more Theoreticals and Practicals than anyone else within the XIII, with the probable exception of Guilliman himself. Without information, he couldn't properly prepare and there were only so-many times you could **dismantle** and **polish** your Bolter before you started losing the **fiddly bits** (like the Trigger or a **Firing-pin**). Perhaps that was another reason why he wasn't sent to the **Tech Priests**. After the third '**whoops**' they would have sent him back to his Chapter (in pieces).

Speaking of which… he slid the Receiver into the Housing of his **Modified Godwyn Pattern Bolter**. A rather **ingenious** design of his own devising that – to all but the most **Learned Observer** – appeared no different from a Regular Bolter. A **Clever** Baffle design on the Receiver (made the Bolter **quieter**), a **revolutionary **Bayonet configuration within the Housing (allowed the User to **rapidly change** the Barrel), and Two separate Barrels (a short standard Barrel and a Modified Suppressed "Stalker Bolter" Barrel) allowed for Greater **Range** and **Versatility**. He racked the Bolt, and set down the empty weapon. Now came the moment he had been dreading **all night**.

"Alright you Bastards, up an' at 'em. The enemy ain't gonna kill 'emselves."

* * *

+=SSV Normandy=+

+=Transit to Chiron Relay=+

+=Crew Deck=+

+=Sleeping Pods=+

+=[42.183.M03]=+

+=[32.38.08 S.B.T.]=+

+=[mark: - 28.12.01]=+

* * *

Panic

Fear

Twilight

_Darkness. Closeness. Can't Breath. Can't Hear. Can't see._

_What is that Booming. So Alone_.

_Let me out._

_**Let me out**__._

_**Let me out**__._

_**LET ME OUT**_!

A pod opens, a shape falls out.

Its breathing is ragged, its shoulders are shaking.

A Haggard face, rocking from side to side.

In the Dim light, the figure stumbles upright.

The Face is bleak, Haunted and Drawn.

But the **Eyes**, the **Eyes** are different…

**Those Eyes…**

** They Burn…**

** They Consume…**

An Emerald Flame, a Heart-Shaped Face, and a Halo of Blood.

But… you are always drawn back into those **Eyes**.

On anyone else, those **eyes** would foreshadow **Madness**.

On anyone else, that Haunted **gaze** would prophesize **Oblivion**.

On anyone else, those **eyes** would Foretell **Death**.

On Her…

Those Eyes…

Are Predatorial…

Like a Drawn Bow, with Hardened Sharp Lines, baring a Predatory Grace.

Those Eyes burn, with determination – burningly critical – searching for weakness.

By the time you leave those Eyes, the Creature that crawled out of that Coffin is Gone.

The Being… no. The Woman… no. The Commander… Yes.

**She** who would Command.

**She** who would Lead.

**She** whom you would Follow.

Head up…

Shoulders back…

Eyes Forward…

Moves Precise, not an once of energy wasted, the epitome of Military Precision.

And so ready to strike, Commander Jane Shepard marches forward to meet the Galaxy head-on.

* * *

_God Damn Akuse_, Shepard thought, _never a moment's peace_.

She marched into the galley area and grabbed a Cup of Coffee.

_So-far, so-good_, the optimist in her laughingly thought, _no annoying Turians, no wise-ass Pilots, and maybe – just maybe- I might escape the clutches of 'the Doctor from the Id.'_

She sneaked forward, toward the stairs to the CIC, maybe, just maybe today she would-

"Commander Shepard," the herald of her Doom began, "I hope you had a pleasant evening?"

_And so it begins_, she thought morosely.

"Good Morning Doctor," she began with fake cheerfulness, "I had a nice and peaceful night, of deep **restful** sleep."

"No Dreams?" queried the Doctor.

* * *

_No sound…_

_ Dim yellow fog…_

_ Hard Ground beneath her Feet…_

_A __**Shriek**__…_

_ Another one dies…_

_ They were running…_

_The Ridge is so far away…_

_ Another __**Shriek**__, another __**Death**__…_

_ Again and again, over and over…_

_Thought, flowing, like __**Ice**__…_

_An __**Eternity**__ between each __**Step**__…_

_ An __**Age**__ between each fevered __**Breath**__…_

_We're so Close…_

_ Almost there…_

_Just a Bit Longer…_

_**Safe**__. We're Safe, we're __**Alive**__._

_She turns to her squad, and…_

_There's no-on there. She. Is. Alone._

_No. __**no**__. __**nonononono**__. __**Nooooo**__!_

_They can't be. They can't be –_

* * *

Shepard breaks out of her waking Dreams, and looks the Doctor in the Eye.

"No," she states emotionlessly, "No Dreams."

Doctor Chakwas looks sceptical at this, but she never got to her ripe old age without knowing **when** to pick her battles.

"Okay, Commander. I'm here if you need me," doctor Chakwas replies, deciding that discretion is** certainly** the better part of Valour.

The Doctor returns to her office, leaving the Commander to her internal reflection. Every night she sees their faces, every **God-Damn** night, every **God-Damn** soldier on her **God-Damned** Doomed Patrol. It had been six months, six peaceful blessed months without a Flash-Back, and two months since she stopped twitching at the mere mention of that God-Forsaken **Planet** and those Hell spawned **Creatures**.

She had only on question, since… then. **Why?**

**Why** me?

**Why** am I alive?

**Why** did I survive?

**Why** not those in Cover?

**Why** not the Others?

The **Answer** was given – time and time again, over and over – the Brass and Doctors saying **it** so much that even they believed the **Bullshit** they were selling. They believed that if they said **it** enough, over and over, that she would believe **it** too. That **Answer**?

**Biotics**

**Bullshit**. There are Adepts **stronger** than her, Sentinels **smarter** than her and they expected her to believe that she survived **because** of her little Vanguard Barrier. **Bull-Shit**.

**She** ran just as fast as everyone **else**.

**She** had the basic Equipment, same as everyone **else**.

Why wasn't **she** dead, just like everyone **else**.

'**Survivors Guilt**' they called **it**.

**She** needed therapy **they said**.

It was all in **her** head **they said**.

**Ha**.

PTSD Bullshit **she determined**.

She needed Answers **she determined**.

There was something wrong with that mission **she determined**.

**They** threatened to Drum her out of the Alliance.

**They** told her to stick to the **official line**.

**They** ordered her to go see **their** therapists.

**She **went to **their** therapy. It cost **them** three therapists.

Three therapists who were unable to confirm the **official diagnosis** of the Brass.

Three therapist who couldn't believe the **official line** themselves, after **she** was done with them.

**She** stood on the precipice of change, **she** was about to be cast out of the only life **she** had ever known.

**She** was about to Leap, when **he** pulled her away from the edge of the Cliff.

The **only** Officer to believe **her**, in **her** eyes she saw that **he** had an inner pain within him too, a pain **she** saw every time **she** looked in a Mirror.

**He** stood up for her, **he** got her into the N7 Program, **he** built her back up again.

**Together** they did good. **Together** they started to help people. **Together** they hunted down some Bad-Guys.

**Together** they investigated Akuze. **Together** they tried to get the Brass to see the **Truth** – and when that failed – **Together** they went to Parliament.

In the end, all **they** did was erect a Memorial. A small victory a least.

_I guess that was to be expected_, reflected Shepard, _all we had was the Signal from a Missing Distress Beacon and a whole lot of unknown_. _Well at least Captain Anderson helped me find closure_.

Shepard panned her gaze across the Galley Table, "well, since I'm here already, may as well catch a small bite to eat, bef-,"

=Commander to the Bridge. Commander to the Bridge=

"Grrr-… On my way Joker," she replied exasperatedly.

=Just following **your** Orders, Commander= replied Joker Sardonically =and I quote, 'make sure I am there, when you need to do something important," end quote. And since **I** have nothing better to do than being **your** PA, well…=

"Noted Joker," replied the Commander sarcastically, "just remember I **would** kick your ass, if it didn't mean **so** much paperwork after the assault."

=Then I'll spend the rest of my life living in fear of the **Brass** eliminating the need for Paperwork, **Commander**=

Shepard just shook her head, most of the time Joker was a Sarcastic Ass, and **occasionally** he cheered her up. And Hey, she **loved** watching him being a Sarcastic Ass at others, for all of the seventy-two hours she had known him.

She turned and marched toward the CIC, the last thing going through her mind at the Time was, _**at least**__ that ass Nihlus hasn't found me yet_.

* * *

+=Imperial Palace=+

+=Himalayas=+

+=1st Archology=+

+=Personal Chambers of Malcador the Sigillite=+

+=[222.071.M31]=+

+=[53.56.08]=+

+=[mark: – 07.04.01]=+

* * *

Beauty.

Frustration.

Solitude.

An **Enigmatic Smile**.

**She**'s Happy.

**She**'s Sad.

**She**'s Melancholic.

So many views, so many opinions, so many **many** theories for a Smile that is **almost**… not there.

He had always subscribed to the Theory that she **had** a… **Secret**.

**One** that was hers Alone.

**One** that she wasn't going to share.

**One**… **Terrible Secret**, behind that Cheshire Cat Grin.

**Who** was **she**?

Was she a **Noble**?

Was she a **Mistress**?

He had heard many – oh… **so many** – theories on who she was, but only one man had ever given him a satisfactory **answer**. A man – he had briefly met – known as Kasper Hawser had spoken to him about it, at a Charity Dinner for the Unification Council decades ago. Poor Kasper, he never knew whom he spoke to, and then he decided to disappear into the Tundra. He had heard rumours of the Conservator joining the Sons of Russ on Fenris, as a Skajld (a "Story Teller", of all things).

His eyes returned to the Portrait. According to Kasper he and a few other Conservators had uncovered some ancient data stacks from the Catacombs of Neo Paris, with speculation (funnily enough, from a group of "Notable Historians of the Day") that the women in the portrait was actually a composite. She was the ideal of **pure beauty**, for the Artist anyway. He chuckled at that; her hair (while curled) was mostly plain, her dress was dull and unflattering, and finally her face was almost **so** shapeless as to be described as completely androgynous. The only entrancing thing about her was that **smile**, oh… and her fringe was a bit wispy. Kasper had an **answer** for that **too**, it was incomplete. It was recovered from the side of the Artists' **Deathbed** by his Apprentice. He had spent decades on his masterpiece, never letting go, never satisfied, always improving it. A work in Progress, that little bit that was his. Ah… he could understand the appeal, always creating something for others and never having any of your own.

_There was a __**moral**__ in there somewhere_, he thought.

And then there was the restoration… The original frame had been damaged, blackened and burnt along the edges, around the edges of the Canvas the frame had retained a brown tint. The new frame surmounted the edges of the old, with a darker Mahogany-Substitute. It made the Portrait… brighter.

The damage was perhaps prophesized by the painting itself, most people never saw beyond the subject, but the background could best be described as Cataclysmic. Rivers changing course, the ground splitting open and the mountains being cast down. **Poor Leonardo**, he was… complex, and probably misunderstood too.

Malcador turned away from the '**Mona Lisa**', his eyes passing across the other treasures he kept in his personal chambers. From '**Sunflowers**' by Vincent Van Gogh, and his newly (**relatively**) acquired copy of "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare" – in its glass case – **circa** Late Second Millennium sourced from the roving Tribes of Sycorax. His thoughts turned back; to another misunderstood man he once met.

_Poor Kasper_, the Sigillite thought, _common wisdom – at the time you left – was that Shakespeare only wrote three plays_.

He chuckled slightly; _we didn't even have any of his Poetry then_.

His morning contemplation done for the day, the **First Lord of Terra** turned back to his desk. With its almost-but-not-quite Mahogany Substitute and the beautifully crafted scaled green leather top. You couldn't see the desk top at the moment, under the mountain of neatly organised towers of paper. The desk was a gift from the **enigmatic** Vulkan, with its **pristine** cured-salamander leather. The paper, **well**… that was a gift from everybody **else**. He had **Orders** for: Construction, Maintenance, Resupply, Recruitment, Reformation, Dissolution, Absolution. You name it he had **ordered it**. And in return (as if by some bizarre form etiquette) he got even more paperwork.

**Requests** for: Confirmation, Clarification, Explanation, Extrapolation and more god-damn Information. Everyone of these 'requests' with the express intent of either **stalling** for time or trying to get him to change his mind. As if by some bizarre logic, the more '**polite**' letters they sent, the more likely he was to change his position. The three parchment towers on the north-west quadrant of his desk – comprised entirely of **rejection** and **reconfirmation** letters – contradicted this belief **significantly**.

It was to one of the smallest towers that his eyes where drawn, it only consisted of about twenty pages, but each of these pages was more important than all the other pages on that desk. It was probably more important than any other page in the entire Imperial Administratum. The small blank folder, sat like a tiny **outpost** – in a small valley – between two large mountain ranges of preserved wood-pulp-analog, was **vital**. He reached for the small folder, trying not to dislodge the two continents on either side of it.

He opened it, and began to read, an act so **simple** yet… unnecessary. In fact he didn't really need to read the documents within anymore, he had memorised **every word**, **every fact and figure**, weeks before. The simple act of him holding these pages, elevated this information beyond the realm of simple data, to the plateau of **state-secret**.

It would **amaze** the casual reader to discover that one of the greatest secrets within the Imperium was… was a **List**. A list of ships, a list of supplies, a list of personnel, and a list of materials for colonisation. And embossed on the Cover-sheet were the Words:

Project: The Children of Moses

The only **physical** record of said project in the entire Administratum. And what a record it was. The number of ships alone was **staggering**. Nearly a dozen Mars-Pattern Cruiser, four Mechanicum vessels (including a Retro-fitted Ironclad Battleship), there Strike Cruisers and a recently launched **Battle Barge**. Two of the largest being; the (recently launched Mars-Pattern Battle Barge) "Requiem Meae Hostem" and the "Requiro Scientia" (the Ancient Ironclad Battleship that had been modified into a small shipyard). Just to name a few, with another fifty non-combat vessels; mass conveyors, mass transports and even a mobile foundry.

The list was probably **defined** by manpower alone. **Twenty-five **Guard-Divisions, **Five** Armoured-Divisions, a Skitarii Legion, **two dozen** Magos and their retinues, nearly **two million** civilians and – amazingly – **Ten Companies** of the Ultramarine Legion. And yet **no-one** noticed their presence in orbit. By some clever management, of the Sigillite **himself**, the **entire** Expeditionary Fleet was spread across **three separate zones** within the Segmentum Solar. The Mechanicum Vessels and few Mass conveyors where holding in Orbit around **Mars**. The Naval and Civilian Vessels were held in Orbit above the Europa (Supra-Orbital) Plate above **Terra**. And the XIII Legion Vessels would rendezvous with their new Battle Barge above **Luna**, within hour.

This brought him back to the matter **at** hand, or more precisely, **in** his hand. He examined the small unassuming **trinket**, which appeared (for all intents and purposes) to be a rather large – and **archaic** – pocket-watch. The circular face-plate was intricately engraved with imperial iconography, with three crown-like buttons along the rim of the device at the '12', '1' and '2' O'clock positions. Malcador continued to examine the device, as he flicked open the face plate to reveal a swirling pool of **cerulean energy** that appeared through a portal comprised of five overlapping titanium – adamantine composite rings. Revealing that this device was in fact some sort of Warp-Tech, the very energy which it contained, Malcador could feel the energy battering away (**viciously**, with a life of its own) trying to reach its erstwhile jailer.

The Sigillite returned to his chair, and sat down behind his desk, all the while contemplating the device in his hands. Its purpose; to act like a **depth-charge** in the Warp. The Emperor imparted… a portion, of a **vision** he had **divined**, of the **Future** to the **First Lord of Terra**. The device would either **stabilise** the Warp, further securing the man-made sections of the Webway, or it would be the **Catalyst** of a **Storm** within the tumultuous Empyrean, that would last for **Generations**. The centre of that Storm… **Terra**.

Malcador returned his gaze to his desk, his eyes passed – with **measured precision** – over six titanium-plated scroll-like shapes. Each scroll had a **Symbol**; the initial four had roman numerals, the final two had more '**unique**' symbols. The second to last scroll was embossed with a **Stylised Lighting Bolt** (ϟ) like symbol, and the final scroll was characterised by a large Capital 'T' bisected by two diagonal lines(₮). The List and these six Scrolls were the **two** **critical** elements within their contingency plan.

Each scroll contained a flexible **crystal wafer**, which conducted and stored **Psykic Energy**. Stored within each of the Scrolls, was a **Message** that would be passed directly into the mind of the **Recipient** on contact. These scrolls would be carried by a **Dormant Psyker**, which would **command** one of the two squads, that would pass into the human-made portions of the Webway and through into the more… **ancient** – and **alien** – segments of the Webway.

That led Malcador's well ordered mind to the **Tasks** ahead. The Emperor had given him the Critical Portions of his Visions well over a **year ago**, and the Emperor had fashioned the Scrolls himself, and entrusted them to him **several months ago**. The Emperor would prepare the **Stage**, it was Malcadors part to assemble the **Players**.

Today was the day that he would bring together; the assembled **Army**, the **Fleet** and the **Messenger**.

It was during his musing that the Doors at the Entrance began to **rumble**, three impacts reverberated through the Chamber, one after the other. A voice called from the other side, "Fabius Durio of the Adaptus Custodies seeks an audience with the Sigillite."

_Ah, and so it begins_, thought Malcador.

"He may enter," replied Malcador, completing the ritual.

The doors swung open to reveal three massive figures in burnished gold armour with plumes of red horse hair, it was to the centre-most figure that the Sigillites focus was **drawn**. He carried his tall helm in the crook of his left-arm, leaving his head bare, like the other Custodians – to his left and right – he carried a nine-foot long force halberd.

Fastened at his waist was a beautifully crafted rapier, and upon his left vambrace was a gilded **Storm Bolter**.

"My Lord, Captain Tobias Braxton has assembled his Squads, and my team is prepared to escort you to the Armoury for the Briefing," informed Durio the Head of his security detail.

Malcador inclined his head toward Durio; he reached for a small satchel, and placed the Warp Device and Scrolls within. He stood and walked around his desk, at which point he extended his right-hand. A **charged atmosphere** filled the room, and energy **arched** around… and **earthed** along his fingers. Suddenly… with a **Loud Crack** (and the smell of **Ozone**)… a long Eagle Topped Staff appeared mere inches, from his hand. As the Staff came into contact with his outstretched palm, **Amber Flames** sprouted from the Wings of the Eagle. Seemingly casting a Glow about the robed figure of the Sigillite, and **strangely** **dimming** the rest of the ambient light within his Chambers.

"Let us Begin," spoke the Sigillite.

As the First Lord of Terra marched past, the Custodians at the Threshold of his Chambers, and into **History**.

* * *

+=Arach-Qin Craftworld=+

+=Location Unknown=+

+=Dome of the Crystal Seers=+

+=A rather comfy Tree-Stump=+

+=[221.071.M31]=+

+=[12.51.23]=+

+=[mark: – 48.08.10]=+

* * *

Transcendence.

Reflection.

Introspection.

Thought and Energy…

Ethereal and Fleeting…

Yet… Tangible and Structured…

Outwards and Onwards…

Reaching and Touching…

Always… Feeling and Experiencing…

And… Return.

Back… Return.

Toward… Return.

Her… Return.

Body…Return.

Descending from the ecstatic heights of her **Vision Quest** within the Infinity Circuit, the Seer – whom sat quiet comfortably on her Wraith-Bone Stump – opened her Physical Eyes. She held onto the new minds that touched the Wraith-Bone of the Infinity Circuit, though touching their minds with her. Their thoughts felt **exotic** and **new**; from the **stoic** minds of the Warlocks and Black Guardians of **Ulthwe**, to the strange **esoteric** thoughts of the Spirit-Seers of **Lugganath** (and the **Youthful** spirits of their **Harlequin** allies), to the **sorrow** filled minds of the Howling Banshees of **Iybraesil** and their Farseer Guides, to the **gentile touch** of the talented Bone-Singers of the Il-Kaithe. **New** thoughts, **new** memories, and **new** perspectives, but… **Sombre**, even compared to the dark and morbid humour of the Denizens of the **Arach-Qin** Craftworld. Thus allowing her Witch-Sight to recede, and the ethereal beauty of the **Crystal Garden**, to fill her vision.

The Seer paused to take in her surroundings; she sat upon a small white desiccated stump, she was garbed in a skin-tight under-suit, resting upon her shoulders was a white sleeveless Japanese-like-Haori embodied with silvery – seemingly alive and eldritch – runes. Her appearance seemingly indeterminate in the perpetual **twilight** that permeated the **Garden**, and most – if not all – of the Craftworld. Her people had an affinity for darkness, and unlike the rest of her wayward kin spread across the Cosmos, her people didn't fear it. Their enemies on the other hand… well they were just another terror that lurked in the Darkness. The Stump sat in the middle of a silver flat disc, in the centre of a clearing within the Dome of Crystal Seers. The beautiful – snow white of the Wraith-Bone Trees, and the transparent psycho-reactive Crystals – of the various plants native to the **lost** Eldar **Crone-Worlds**. She turned back – and inwards – to the Wraith-Bone Stump upon which she sat, contemplating its bloody history. She delved into the **Memory** given to her by the most ancient souls within the **Infinity Circuit**, she began to remember…

* * *

Before this very stump, at the **Dawn** of the **Fall**, a duel was fought to decide the Fate of the entire Craftworld. The **Captain** and his **Officers** – who had **Fallen** to **Chaos** – wanted to turned **Corsair** and pillage 'n plunder the **Maiden-Worlds** at the very edge of the Galaxy. Appalled by cruel and twisted plans of the Corrupted Command Crew, the Leader of the warrior guardians – that defended the Craftworld – choose to betray his 'superiors'. In secret he gathered his most Loyal Lieutenants, though out-numbered and out-matched, they began a **Shadow**-Campaign against the twisted Eldar Cultists.

**Murdering** the mutated Bridge-Crew in their sleep…

**Slaughtering **the twisted Chaos-Sorcerers as they meditated…

**Hunting** down Bone-Singers, repairing the deliberate acts of Sabotage…

**Unseen…**

** Unheard…**

** Unknown…**

They 'Guarded' their dark masters – **faithfully** – during the day…

And they slipped a blade between their ribs, at night when they slept…

After **months** of planning…

After **years** of skulduggery…

After **nearly** a decade of woe…

Finally… their prey was **weakened**…

Their fell numbers were **culled **back…

And the Time had come… to **Strike**…

And in a move that would become synonymous with their Craftworld, the **Hunters** of the Arach-Qin began to lay the **Final Snare** for their Cultist Prey…

And so it began… a small uprising in the lower levels… a few missing cultist Bone-Singers here and there… a loss of communication between the head and the rest of the **Snake**…

And they played right into their hands, ordering their '**Loyal**' Bodyguards to barricade themselves into the Command Spire.

Fear and Panic… **Perfect**.

The Farseer chuckled at the sense of **Satisfaction** the Souls within the Infinity Circuit imbued this very **moment** with – within their collective memories. This very moment was of immense importance to the shaping of the **Culture** of their Craftworld. It was one of the **First Memories** they were shown as Children, and it was often the **Last Memories** they would Dream of… as their Souls were drawn into the **Wraith-Bone** of the Craftworld.

Her mind returned back to the **Memory** of the **First Hunters**, and the vision of the **First Great Hunt**. Stranded with their apparently 'Loyal' Guards within the Spire above the Dome of the Crystal-Seers, they were trapped and fearful… _**Easy Prey**_. The Cultists demanded that their guards do something… protect **them**… defend **them**… save **them**…

So they lead their '**Charges**' toward '**Safety**' through the '**Secure**' Wraith-Bone Gardens at the base of the Command Spire… and right into a **well-prepared** ambush, that outnumbered the Cultists… _**Fifty-to-one**_. And then the trap sprung **closed**. Before they could react. Half of the Cultists were **cut-down**… By their own Guards… The rest… **cut-down** within moments. In an act of desperation the Captain **fled**. Toward the centre of the Dome. Trying to keep what **little** control he had… He began a Ritual to Summon forth… **Twisted**… **Sickening Energies**… swept forth. The once-eldar Captain at the centre of this Maelstrom of Corruption. His form… **twisted** … **broken**…

The Energies beyond his control… Into this swirl of twisting warp energies… Ran the Leader of the Hunters… Chasing his **prey**…

Seeing what remained of Corrupted Captain…

Within the Chaos that he had **Wrought**…

Realising what he'd tried to do…

In his desperation, he tried…

Seeing his followers…

Falling… Dying…

He **Struck**…

Summoning his pure **Will**, filling his weapon with **Intent**…

He drew back his Wraith-Bone Halberd, **summoning**…

And cast it through the remains of the **once-eldar**…

The Halberd passed through, striking the Tree…

The energy, **disrupted**, arched into the Tree…

The intent of the ritual… **gone**, destroyed…

The energy turned on those around it…

Arching, between, along, though…

Touching, grasping, tearing…

Burning, Breaking…

**Destroying**…

The resulting destruction obliterated everything within twenty feet of the tree. Leaving nothing behind, not even a presence within the Warp… a perfect Circle… a dead-zone… No Life… No Energy… **Nothing**… Of the **Captain** and the **Guardian**… nothing remained… and those cultists whose souls were drawn into the Infinity Circuit… Their Corrupted Souls were torn apart by the Pure Souls within it.

* * *

At this the Seer trembled, and struggled not to break-down at the Memories… She took comfort in the knowledge that their deaths served a higher purpose, that their ultimate sacrifices… **freed** the Craftworld of the Corruption of Chaos. Even the Stump had it uses… allowing even the **weakest** of Seers to gaze – without interference – into the **Fabric** of the **Universe**. It sat **removed** from the Light, and the Darkness… and **everything** in-between… an island of **emptiness** in a roiling sea of **emotion**.

* * *

But even upon this Stump… no Eldar could escape what would follow… For what followed was **Darkness**… **Chaotic** and **Bleak**… for the Denizens within the Craftworld.

Lost in **Deep Space**…

Unable to repair their **Engines**…

Or navigate the **Webway**…

They turned **Inward**…

By the time they were found, by **Rangers** (of the Craftworld Ulthwe)… a Century had passed… in darkness, and they had **Lost **so~o much.

What the Rangers brought them… was **Purpose**.

What the Rangers brought them… was a **Future**.

What the Rangers brought them… was the **Ai'elethra**.

**The Eldar Path**…

It was from these **Rangers**… from these **Outcasts**… that the **Soul** of the **Craftworld** was born anew… and from these **Outcasts** that their path was found.

Drawn out of the **Collective** memories of her people…

Drawn back to body, and into the **Material Plain**…

She began to draw a finger, along her Shoulder…

Along the Guard, and over the **Eye of Isha**…

Across the **Broken Sword of Khaine**…

And finally taking her time to draw…

A finger around the **Lone Rune**…

The Rune of Cegorath…

**The Laughing God**…

The **Eye** Surmounted the **Sword**…

And the **Laughing Rune**…

Etched on the Blade…

All these Symbols stark white, against a black background.

And invisible… hidden within that **Darkness**…

Unseen… to all but those whom knew…

Engraved… faintly, within the Dark…

Was the **Rune of the Outcast**…

The **Memories **behind that **Rune**, brought a Smile to her Sculpted Lips. Within her mind, the Seer **laughed**, joyous and full… at the **Memories** given to her by the Souls within the Wraith-Bone. She remembered, and thought back to the **Arrival** of the **Phoenix Lords**. They brought their **Teachings** and their **Shrines**, and they spoke – _**pompously**_ – of the various grand paths and ways of the reborn Eldar. And the people _**laughed**_… she smiled at the **Memory**, that **Angered** the '_**Oh-so**_' _**mighty**_ Phoenix Lords.

In the face of their **Anger**, not a single one of her people… **broke**. They didn't **flinch**… nor **falter**, they stood and stared down, these '_**Oh-so**_' powerful Lords. And from within the crowd strode a **Child**, she strode toward those **Mighty Beings**, clad in their imposing Wraith-Bone armours. And **She** spoke unto them, in a voice that pierced the **Veils Power**…

"If your Shrines give us **Strength**… We will Praise You… And if they don't…"

She Smile up at them, confusing them so.

"We will **laugh**… and our laughter will **haunt** you… until the Stars grow old… and **Die**…"

And so the **Aspect Shrines** were founded within their Craftworld. And their fortunes rose and fell… upon the **whims** of the denizens of the Arach-Qin. The largest of these Shrines, became known as the **Trinity**, they were; the **Strike Scorpions**, the **Shadow Spectres**, and the **Dire Avengers**. And from each of these **Greater** Aspect Shrines… a **Lesser**… more specialised Shrine would arise. From within the Aspect Shrine of the **Striking Scorpions**, many female warriors would move onto the Aspect of the **Howling Banshee**, and a few warriors from within the **Shadow Warriors** Aspect would transition almost seamlessly into the Aspect of the **Dark Reaper**. Only the Shrine of the **Dire Avengers** Aspect stood alone, for none knew where the Warp Spiders had hidden their Shrine. It was said that within their Shrine was… hidden… the **Lost** and **Forgotten Phoenix Lord** of their Aspect. The **Guardians** of the **Wraith-Bone**, were purposefully mysterious, and –

* * *

An **intrusion**… an unfamiliar presence… within the Crystalline Gardens.

Farseer Idranel… withdrew from her **Vision Quest**.

**Shielding** her mind with practiced ease.

**Preparing** her defences, against…

The mental probing of…

A **dangerous** –

_**Illic**_, she groused mentally,_ has he nothing better to do than irate me and waste my time_.

Her memories turned back to the series of events that lead to the arrival of the – **rather annoying** and – outspoken **Warlock** from **Ulthwe**, and the other refugees. She thought back, into her **own** memories, to the events that led her people and a few desperate others…

Into a **flight**… towards a **New Galaxy**…

* * *

**Codex Entry: The Shepard**

… **As time would pass, and as the realisation of who I was becoming, I began to reflect upon my place in the Universe. Not who I was, where I began, or even what I had done. But how I had touched those around me. Paraphrasing a few Asari mystics, "every idea must touch another to live, every emotion must be shared with another to grow."**

**It is not arrogant to say that I was crucial to events of things to come. It would be arrogant to say that I did it alone. I may have been the one to interface with the Prothean Beacon… But without my Squad I wouldn't have gotten to the Beacon at all.**

**(An extract from "The Man I Once Knew," by Liara T'Soni. Biographer for Commander Jane Shepard (Spectre Ret.))**


	2. Chapter 1 - Departure

**Date Published:23/09/2013**

**Date Re-Edited:N/A**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

* * *

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

**- Departure -**

* * *

+=Imperial Palace=+

+=Himalayas=+

+=Classified=+

+=Armoury=+

+=[222.071.M31]=+

+=[22.58.08]=+

+=[mark: – 38.01.01]=+

* * *

Preparation.

Information.

Embarkation.

Gauntlets. Check.

Vanbraces. Check.

Elbow-guards. Check.

Upper-arms. Check.

Pauldrons. Check.

Chest-plate. Check.

Belt-plate. Check.

Thigh-guards. Check.

Knee-guards. Check.

Greaves. Check.

Mag-Boots. Check.

Respirator… Check.

Helmet… Check.

He placed his Helm on his head, and began the activation protocols…

* * *

+=Retinal Command Interface: Active =+

+=Calibrating Reticule: Optimised =+

+=Running Diagnostic: Active =+

+=Black Carapace Linkage: Active =+

+=Medical Diagnostic Suite: Active =+

+=Mind Impulse Unit: Optimised =+

+=Automated Fibre Reweaving: Active =+

+=Artificial Muscle Fibre Bundles: Calibrating… =+

* * *

The suit contracted, squeezed and settled. His self-diagnostics on his Artificer complete, he waited.

"Squad, About… Turn," called Sergeant Braellen, "Check… Marine."

Sigmund rotated a hundred-and-eighty degrees, and began to check Bother Julius, the Battle-Brother across from him, and his Praetor-Pattern Power Armour. Each and every other Brother within the Armoury, like a well choreographed ballet, was doing the same. He checked where the other Marine couldn't; his pack, the back of his helm, and for any exposed connections on the back of his Armour.

"Squad, About… Turn," called the Sergeant again, "Check… Marine."

He stopped checking Brother Julius, and turned back to his own locker. The Marine behind him began to check his armour; his pack, the partial scabbard for his two-and-half handed Nemesis Power-Sword, and his wolf-fur cloak bundled bellow his pack.

"About… Face," called the Sergeant a final time, "Weapons… Check."

He began to check his weapons and ammo.

He checked the two melta-charges on his belt.

He checked each of his six grenades and loaded them into his ammo-dispenser (located in his pack).

He checked each of his ten, thirty round, magazines and then loaded them into his dispenser.

He paused… grabbed two mags (of armour-piercing rounds) and mag-locked them to his left thigh.

He grabbed his modified Stalker-Pattern Barrel and a spare Standard-Bolter Barrel, and mag-locked them to his right-leg.

He picked up his bolter, and examined the M40 Targeting System, and then he mag-locked the bolter to his right arm.

He then picked up his Nemesis blade, its name carved along the flat-of-the-blade in runic script, fittingly called "**Sorrowmourn**."

He examined it; tested the grip, above and bellow the guard.

He checked each of the runes on the blade, cleaning away any dirt or grit.

Finally he flicked the activation rune. The blade began to glow an ethereal blue and pulsed, a deep bone-chilling cold began to emanate from the blade, which permeated every inch of the room. Satisfied, he deactivated the blade, and clipped it onto his back – next to his pack – in its partial scabbard.

Sigmund turned back to his squad, and observed their final preparations. Merrik was changing out the power-cell of his Plasma Rifle, he had already mag-locked his Bolt-Pistol to his leg as well as his Chainsword to his hip. Greavus was racking the bolt on his Heavy Bolter, and seemed satisfied with the sound. Gaius was checking the belt-feed on Greavus's ammo-pack, while Julius stood to the side observing… **him**. Ignoring him Sigmund turned back to the rest of his squad. Techmarine Delaphor (in his blood red Artificer Armour) was utilising the multi-jointed dendrites, on his armature, to run a final diagnostic on Vespasian's Las-Cannon. And Grammaticus… the old terran-born Apothecary (in his white Apothecary armour) was running a final diagnostic on his Narthecium. Sigmund turned back to Julius, and stared back impassively, all he did was glare in return.

Julius was one of a new breed of Legionnaire; he had been recruited late in the Crusade, from a – **Pious** – evangelical community on Calth. His family had believed in the _**divinity**_ of the Emperor, and induction into one of his Legions just reaffirmed his piety. When the Judgement of Nikea came down, his piety turned from worship of the Emperor to righteous **Hatred** of the Psyker. And since his Sergeant was a former member of the Librarium, Julius's hatred had focused mostly on the nearest target…. **Sigmund**. He had requested to join the Order of Chaplains, Sigmund still vividly remembered reading their response (in his file)…

* * *

+=Your hatred has poisoned your mind. If given any form of authority, such as a Chaplaincy, your prejudices would poison the Hearts and Minds of others. Until you can think with a Clear and Rational Mind, you will not…=+

* * *

Not surprisingly, he didn't take it well. He was **angry**, then **upset**, then very **quiet**. What had disturbed poor old Sigmund wasn't the mood swings, it was the speed with which it all took place, within **five minutes** he was staring blankly at the Floor.

_At first_, _I thought it would be good for him. Boy was I wrong_.

Within a week, he had come to a conclusion. This was his **destiny**… he was destined to watch the Psyker from within. What it translated to, was glaring at his Superior Officer, whenever he had nothing better to do. He never disobeyed any of the Sergeants orders, however he did question every order given and reported all of the Sergeants actions. Much to Sigmund's chagrin and that of his superiors.

_Malignant __**narcissism**__ and religious __**hatred**__… what could possibly go wrong_, thought Sigmund, _I'll have to have him transferred, maybe if he spent the next decade guarding a door that would teach him some hu-_

**Footsteps**.

Both he a Julius turned to the Archway, at the entrance to the Armoury.

The Footsteps grew louder.

_Three… no four_, thought Sigmund.

No-one other than a being with trans-human senses, like a Space Marine, could have heard such unnaturally quiet footsteps. And only someone with the (relatively) peerless training of the Astartes Legions, could have discerned between the almost-not-there footfalls.

As the silent footfalls reached a crescendo, and a gilded figure crossed the threshold into the Armoury. The figure, with its peaked-helm was taller than most of the Marines within the Armoury. With the exception of Sigmund who (at nearly nine feet) could look the Custodian in the eye. The Custodian scanned the room, stood to the side and another two Custodians entered the vaulted room.

It was at that point that he felt…**it**.

The metallic **charged** taste on his tongue…

The Taste of Warp-Energy **burning** in the Air…

The smell of Ozone, energy **arching**through the Air…

His mind began to **reach** out, toward the stream of energy…

His eyes began to **see** beyond what mere mortals could witness…

The beat of his hearts, **quickening**, as his body readied for the flow of power…

All he had to do was **grasp** it, and –

**No**

A Judgment had been **made**.

An Oath had been **sworn**.

**He wouldn't** give into temptation.

**He** chained the thirst, with shackles made of **pure Will**.

**He** lashed out at the beast, forcing it _**back into its Cage**_.

**He** cowed the animal into **retreat**, deep into his Subconscious.

Logic **reigned** within his mind the Tactical and Analytical Savant rose to the surface of his Mindscape, and took control.

_**Who**__ was this he felt…?_

A figure entered the Armoury, dwarfed by his guards, yet exuding a sense of… **Power**.

Energy flowed through the room, the lights dimmed, and an aura of mystery seemed to envelop those present.

The hooded figure bore an eagle topped staff, from which an eldritch flame sprouted; Sigmund could feel the Warp **bleeding** through it – into the room.

_Theoretical__: Warp Sorcery_, his mind analysed, _the staff is the focal point. __Practical__: remove it and the threat is neu-_

His mind withdrew from that thought, allowing a trickle of his own emotions to seep back in.

_Wait… analyse the **figure**, _his mind began compiling a list of observations about the figures appearance, and apparent abilities.

_Theoretical:_

_Warp Energy is present._

_Reddish-Brown Robes._

_Tubes at the Throat (Bionics?)._

_Brown Satchel._

_Eagle Topped Staff. _

_Practical:_

_What does this Tell us?_

_He is a Psyker either Astropath or a Navigator._

_The Robes, Administatum._

_The Bionics, indicative of Life-Extending treatments, expensive._

_The Satchel, tells me nothing._

_The Staff, it bears the Eagle, only the most favoured Adepts could even possess it._

_Altogether that means that this is… ah… the Sigillite himself_, he mentally concluded.

And all of this mental acuity, all within the space between a **single** beat of his Hearts.

* * *

Malcador entered the Armoury, and found a strange scene.

All but two of the seventeen Marines present were studiously maintaining their gear. The remaining two Marines were standing facing him and the entrance to the Armoury. The Marine on the right, his eyes betraying his calm exterior, were filled with disgust as they roved between him and the final Marine (on his left). The Final Marine, was… **surprising** to say the least. Even in real-space, the Sigillite witnessed with his **physical** eyes, energy arching along his armour, the sigils and runes seemed to… **move** – with a life of their own. It was with his 'Third-Eye' – his **Witch-Sight** – that the Sigillite was **truly** amazed. The Marines form was wrapped in **silver chains** of pure willpower, which held his powers – his abilities – in check, as the ambient energy (from his staff) within the room earthed itself into the Marine frame.

_Ahh… he thought_, this must be Sigmund.

He tightened his hold on the **chains** of his own power, and the ambient energy from his staff drained away from the Marine. The tension left his frame, as the temptation was removed. Anyone else would have forsaken their **oaths** (for such energy) long before he had even entered the _**room**_. The Emperor had asked for this Marine, by name, and Malcador (as the Reagent of Terra and Harbinger of his Will), was honour bound to test this man to be sure. His old friend was right; this Son of Guilliman was the perfect man for the **Task**. _And where he was going_, thought Malcador ruefully,_ being able to resist temptation maybe his strongest asset._

"My Lord, you honour us."

Malcador turned to the source of that voice, only to encounter a gleaming wall of gold and blue.

_Hmph… so this is Captain – Tobias – Braxton. A bit ostentatious_, thought Malcador, _then again if they where to __**melt**__ the gleaming golden-titanium down, it would probably only make a __**single greave**__ for one of the Custodians guarding him._

He still wasn't impressed with what he had heard of the man. Even though Braxton was Terran born, he had risen through the ranks of XIII on merit alone; however he was a lack-lustre Tactician.

**Predictable.** **Plodding**_**.**_

If it were up to the Sigillite, he would have removed the man from the **Mission** during the planning stages. The Emperor had assured him that his presence wouldn't matter either way. For the moment he ignored the Commander and his eyes returned to the young man filled the **Hate**, burning through his visor, his hand reaching into his satchel and fingering a small roll of parchment. The **words** that the Emperor had given him began to take shape on his tongue.

"**Brother Julius**…" he spoke deliberately infusing his words with power, "if you do not relinquish your **ignorance** and your **hatred**, the only **Fate** that will befall you is a tragic **Dea~th**."

The look on the Marines face was priceless, he was rather grateful that his witch-sight allowed him to witness it (through the Marines Helmet); he only wished he had a Pictograph to capture that moment for eternity. His prophecy spoken, he turned back to find a slightly bemused Captain.

"Let us begin, time is of the essence," he began, "and you must understand your part in what is too come."

He turned to face the two squads gathered around him, much to the displeasure of his guardians, who would probably have preferred if they would remain a respectful distance away (say two to three **hundred** metres).

"Your mission is critical and key to a personal project of the Emperor, and should you succeed, you would have been instrumental in the creation of an alternate form of travel through the Warp. One, which would not require the use of a starship."

The stunned silence was broken by a single question.

"Theoretical: what would happen if we fail?"

"Should you fail… the consequences would be… **dire**."

"Contingencies?" asked Sigmund with workman like precision, as if simply measuring a table.

"Sergeant, allow the Sigillite to begin the briefing," rebuked Captain Braxton, "hear the plan first, then… you can kill it with questions."

That brought a smile to the Sigillites lips; at least the Captain was good for something. Though it surprised him considerably how sharp this Sergeant was.

_At his age why isn't he commanding his __**own**__ Company?_

Dismissing that errant thought he turned back to the matter at hand.

* * *

And so, with time being of the essence, Malcador began the Briefing.

"You will proceed from here into the lower halls. From there you will be guided toward the **Labratorum** in the sub-levels. Once there you will enter a portal into an **artificial**_** construct**_ within the Warp. Sergeant Sigmund's Squad will deploy first, to secure the entrance to the construct from within. You will proceed along the man-made sections of the construct, I will be guiding you the entire time, deep into the **Eldar-made** sections of the Webway."

At this a sense of unease began to fill the Armoury, and the inevitable question was asked.

"What is the risk to the squad, from the **Xeno-tech**," this unsurprisingly from the Squads Techmarine, _Delaphor I believe his name was_, thought the Sigllite.

"Negligible… as always the greatest risk is that of the **Warp Entities **within the Webway **construct**, however unless the Webway destabilises the construct **itself** will prevent them from reaching you. Therefore the Webway is secure; your Mission is to deploy a **Device** that will stabilize the barriers and connections between all the **old** and **new** sections of the Webway."

He paused and reached into his satchel and withdrew the **Warp Device**, he handed it to Sergeant Sigmund.

"You will transport the device to the **Activation Point**," stated Malcador.

Sigmund flicked the **Device** open, and examined the Warp energy within.

"If the energy remains clear, then activate the **Device** by pressing the button at the 12 o' clock position. Should the Webway destabilise or the energy – within the **Device** – become Corrupted, press the second button to purge the energy from within the **Device**. This will activate the **Contingency Plans**. Once the energy within the **Device** has been depleted, depress the third button to activate the **Teleporter**. You will act as the conduit for that energy, and facilitate the teleportation of all those **mentally-linked** to you."

At this statement, he could feel the hesitation – boiling away – within the Sergeant.

"Wouldn't that require me to… use, my abilities. That would clearly **violate** the Oaths I have taken… what of the Edict of Nikea?" queried the Psyker hesitantly.

"Normally, yes it would," the Sigillite responded reaching into his satchel, "that is why the Emperor authorised… **this**."

As he finished speaking he had arranged a crimson wax-coin on the edge of the **Strip of Parchment**. With a flash of light, energy arched between his fingers, melting the red disc and affixing the **Purity Seal** to the rim of his Pauldron. As he removed his hand, as if by some **arcane means**, the symbol of the Aquila was embossed in the centre of the **Seal**. The litany on the parchment strip simply read:

+=Sanxit Magi Imperialis=+

Which roughly translated (from High Gothic) to "Imperial Sanctioned Psyker," the **meaning** of those words were not lost on Sigmund.

"Until either the **Emperor** or **I**, revoke this seal, consider yourself officially Sanctioned by the Emperor himself. Until you return, or as needs must, you are authorised to **deputise** and **sanction** any other Psyker you deem fit, under guise of this Seal-"

At this point Julius interrupted indignantly with barely concealed rage, "my Lord, I must object. This is unprecedented, and the Sergeant cannot be tr-"

"You will hold your tongue, Brother," replied Sigmund with a deathly calm tone of voice, "or you can consider yourself **Censured**. The Emperor **himself**, has Sanctioned this. The Sigillite is his **Agent**, by defying him you defy the Emperor. Am I Clear… **Brother**?"

"Yes," replied Julius, not even trying to conceal his anger.

"Yes, what… **Brother**?"

"Yes… **Sir**, Brother Sergeant."

Sigmund turned back to the Sigillite, as he took off his satchel and handed it to the Sergeant.

"Contained within this satchel are six scrolls. The Emperor **himself** prepared them. These are a **key-part** of the **Contingency Plans**. Should the need arise that you activate the contingency, when you arrive at your destination, read the appropriate scroll."

"How will I-"

"It will become apparent at the appropriate time. The other five scrolls are intended for specific individuals," responded the Sigillite.

He turned to leave the Armoury, "come time is slipping away from us."

The Custodians took up position around their charge, as the Sigillite lead the two squads of Ultramarines out of the Armoury.

Sigmund attached the satchel to his belt and placed the Warp Device within. His squad gathered and set out, taking up the rear-guard position.

_I get the __**distinct feeling**__ that I shouldn't have gotten out of __**bed**__ this morning…_

It was only much later that he would realise how apt that feeling **truly** was.

* * *

+=SSV Normandy=+

+=Approaching Chiron Relay=+

+=CIC=+

+=Stairwell=+

+=[42.183.M03]=+

+=[22.58.08]=+

+=[mark: – 38.01.01]=+

* * *

Suspicion.

Explanation.

Aw… Crap.

As Shepard advanced up the stairs toward the CIC, her mind turned towards her "**least favourite Turian**."

As Shepards mind pondered her '**Nihlus Kryik conundrum**', Joker called out through the PA system.

=We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination=

Shepard lost in her thoughts, a look of determination on her face, weaved in and out of the crew on the bridge as she approached the cockpit.

=The relay is hot. Acquiring approach vector=

It was clear after the Galaxy Map, along the raised walkway between the "Techie" trenches, and she picked up her pace.

=All stations secure for transit=

Shepard arrived at the cockpit, her gaze locked on the Relay, ignoring anyone else in the cockpit **completely**.

=Hitting the relay in Three...Two...One...=

They hit the Relay and Shepard finally noticed **who** she had been sharing the cockpit with.

"Thrusters, check. Navigation, check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift...," Joker bleats out almost mechanically, "just under fifteen hundred 'K'."

"Fifteen hundred is good, your Captain will be pleased," replied Nihlus, the very **bane** of her existence, who then promptly turned around and left the cockpit.

"I **hate** that guy," quipped Joker.

"Nihlus gave you a compliment, so… you **hate** him?" questions Kaiden Alenko form the Co-pilots seat next to him.

"You remember to zip-up your flight-suit on the way out of the **Bathroom**?" queried Joker sarcastically, "**that's** Good. I just jumped us half-way across the Galaxy and hit a Target the size of a pinhead. **That's** incredible."

He turned back toward the controls, "Besides, spectres are trouble. I don't like having him aboard. Call me paranoid."

"You're **paranoid**," replied the Sentinel without missing a beat.

"The council helped fund this project. They have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment," replied Kaiden evenly, "that's the official story anyway."

"Yeah, that's the '**official**' story. But only an idiot believes the **official** story. Nihlus is a Council **Spectre**, you don't send Spectres on shake-down-runs… there's something their not telling us," Joker responded dismissively, "what do you think Commander."

Shepard breaks out of her internal 'Nihlus is a Creep' monologue/debate, to contemplate Jokers question. Her internal bullshit meter redlined, and her lips began moving before brain could catch up.

"Somebody's **lying** to us, I don't know **who** and I don't know **why**, but I don't like it," Shepard stops leaning over the Pilots' Seat and straightens up, "so stay frosty, this Mission could go **south** at any time."

Before anyone could respond or speculate further the comm. System burst to life.

=Joker! Status report= asked Captain Anderson with authority in his voice.

"We just cleared the mass relay Captain. Stealth systems engaged, everything looks solid. Eta with Eden Prime forty-five minutes," replies Joker.

=Good. Find us a comm. buoy and link us into the network. I want mission reports relayed to Alliance brass _**before**_we reach Eden Prime= Anderson ordered.

"Roger that," affirmed Joker, and as an afterthought, "oh… and Commander, heads-up, Nihlus is on his way."

=He's already **here**= Joker winces at that =if you see, Shepard, tell her to report to the Comms Room. Anderson out=

Joker looks over his shoulder at Shepard, "you get that, Commander?"

"Yeah. Sounded like he's in a bad mood," replied Shepard dejectedly.

"He's always in a bad mood." Joker quipped.

"Only when he's talking to **you,** Joker," Kaiden sniped.

Deciding to get this over with, she marched with towards the rear of the deck, where a Weirdo and her Commanding Officer were waiting.

**She** would march in there and find out what's, what.

**She** would stand her ground, and demand the information.

**She** would walk right up to Nihlus, get right up in his face and-

_Oh-look… it's Navigator _, she thought evadingly, _I probably have some crucial Intel that I need to give him, or a status report that needs reporting, or something to do with… um-er… Space. Yeah very important that._

Five minutes later she had run out of topics to procrastinate, _I-er mean_ talk about. He did raise a few good points during their conversation. Something **was** wrong here. The Ship was fully staffed… for a shake-down-run? It would have been fine with just a skeleton crew, and what about Captain Anderson and her. You don't send two Spec. Ops Commanders on a shake-down-run, and what about Nihlus. Something _**was**_ going here, and she needed to find out what. Fast.

She needed to go in there and face her fears.

She needed to go in there and get some answers.

She needed to-

_Oooh-look… there's Jenkins and my Favourite Doctor._

_Let's check in with them then._

"Hey Commander, me and Doctor Chakwas were just talking about Nihlus and the Spectres. Hey… now that I think about it, you'd make a perfect candidate for the Spectres. Always getting dropped into impossible situations, forced to survive unbeatable odds. Just like you did on Akuze."

Doctor Chakwas winced in sympathy for Shepard.

Shepard looked the Rookie in the eye and stated in a frighteningly calm voice, "Fifty Marines **died** on that barren-**speck** of** rock**, Jenkins."

"I'm-m s-sorry C-c'mander. I respect what you did there. We all do," he replied quite fast, notably cowed by Shepard barbed remark.

"Let's not try to dwell on the past, Commander," Doctor Chakwas says diplomatically, "as much as I am enjoying our little chat, don't you have somewhere to be?"

At this point Shepard didn't know whether to Punch the Doctor's Clock or Kiss her, she always seemed to say exactly what Shepard needed to hear – regardless of whether she wanted to hear it or not. She knew it would only become even more uncomfortable if she kept delaying, so she bit the Bullet, and decided to actually talk to the Turian in the Comm. Room.

* * *

Shepard entered the Comm. Room expecting to find her direct Superior. What she did find was… **different**. Nihlus, silhouetted, facing a large holo-image of a Verdant City.

I suppose he thinks it makes him look bad-ass, thought Shepard sardonically.

"Ah… Shepard. I'm glad you're here. I was hoping for a chance to **talk**," he greeted warmly, at least she thought so, it was hard to tell with the distortion from the translator.

"Where's Captain Anderson?" Shepard asked, her poker face immediately in play.

"He's on his way," Nihlus replied, evasively. "I'm curious about this world we're going to," Nihlus resumed, "Eden Prime. I hear it's quite beautiful."

"That's what Jenkins told me. Apparently he was raised there. I've never been there myself," Shepard replied, watching the Spectre like a hawk.

"You should. I think you'd like it." Nihlus said. "It's become a symbol for your people. Proof that humanity can not only establish colonies but protect them as well," he paused… "But how safe is it _**really**__?_"

"It's a Colony," responded Shepard evenly, "nothing more, nothing less."

The Commander advanced toward the projection, her gaze locked on the image.

With a flick of her wrist it changed to show a group of men and women, picking some sort fruit from an alien tree.

"The Colonists. They are the real symbol," responded Shepard enigmatically, ignoring the real question in-between the Turians words, "always striving for something better, for something new."

"But not everyone succeeds," replies Nihlus factually, seemingly trying to turn the conversation back.

"There's an old saying, which my father used to quote to me when life seemed darkest, 'Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up again," replied Shepard sagely.

"Ah… very wise. The words of a famous leader or philosopher I suppose?" asked the Spectre magnanimously.

"**Batman**," replied Shepard evenly, in a tone that could almost be described as sadistic.

The look on poor Nihlus's face could only be described as confusion; at least she thought it was confusion. It was hard to tell, what with the mandibles, the look he was giving certainly confused her. She would have laughed… had someone not beat her to it.

A deep chuckle sounded from behind the pair, "I think that it's about time told the Commander what's **reall**_**y**_ going on, Nihlus."

Anderson appeared – silently – at the entrance to the Comm. Room, his "James Earl Jones" tenor instantly recognisable to anyone who had ever met the man.

"Very well," replied Nihlus exasperatedly, "I'm not **only** here to observe the Normandy, this mission is far more than a **simple** shakedown run. I'm-"

"I knew it, you don't send a Spectre on-" she looked over at her Captain, who had politely coughed to bring her back to the matter at hand, "sorry… please continue."

Nihlus made a funny growling sound (a chuckle maybe?) and continued, "Human Archaeologists have uncovered an Artefact on Eden Prime, our mission is to **retrieve it** – **and** the Researchers – and bring them all back to the Citadel… so they can study it properly."

Shepard opened her mouth to ask a question, but Anderson interrupted her, "We're making a covert pick-up on Eden Prime. **That's** why we needed the stealth systems operational. A research team on Eden Prime unearthed some kind of beacon during an excavation," Anderson paused.

"It was **Prothean**."

She raised an eyebrow at that, "then **why** are we handing it over to the Council?"

Nihlus moved to speak, but Anderson forestalled him with a raised hand.

"**Firstly**, we **don't have** the proper facilities to study the Artefact. And, besides we signed a Treaty with the Council, we share all the Artefacts we find and they in turn do the same."

"Which is **why** we need to bring the beacon back to the Citadel for proper study. You see, this goes beyond **mere** Human interests. This discovery could affect every species in Council space." Nihlus added, and annoyingly he did have a point.

Which didn't stop Shepard trying to argue… but Anderson spoke first, "**besides**… the beacon is… **Intact**. The one we found on Mars, was corrupted… damaged, and still it leap-frogged our Technology forward **a hundred years**. This discovery is bigger than (**just**) Humanity, it could advance the level of Galactic Technology forward **two hundred years or more**. Humanity can't be seen trying to hoard something like **that**… it would **destroy** all the Trust we have built-up over the **last thirty-years**. And what if it's a Weapons Cache?"

He moved to look closer at the Holo-projector, "besides, we don't have the resources around Eden Prime to **secure the Planet**, should news get out about the Beacon."

"What do you mean, Sir?" asked Shepard.

"Eden Prime is on the very edge of the Terminus Systems," replied Anderson calmly.

_Far too calmly_, thought Shepard she knew about the part he had played in the defence of Elysium.

"You think the Batarians would risk a raid on Eden Prime, **even so far** in Alliance Space?" Shepard asked with trepidation tinge with incredulity.

"Yes, and Admiral Hackett agrees with me on this… so that's why he sent **us**."

_Whoa… when the Hero of Elysium and the Butcher of Torfan, say that the Batarians are going to raid a Colony, the Best thing to do is drop a few squads of N7's on the Planet, and station a Fleet in Orbit._

"How safe is any Colony **really**, and with a Prize this big, they and any other faction in the Terminus may just be capable of about… **anything**," this – surprisingly – from Nihlus.

"So… shouldn't we park a Fleet in orbit then?" asked Shepard critically.

"No, that'll draw to much attention, in and out, by the time news of the Beacon breaks, it'll be safely back on the Citadel," replied Anderson succinctly.

"So that's why you here then?" enquired Shepard.

"Not entirely," answered Nihlus cryptically.

Nihlus turned to Anderson, who nodded in the Affirmative, and responded exasperatedly, "You see, the beacon's not the only reason I'm here."

"Nihlus wants to see you in action." Anderson elaborated. "He's here to observe you."

This put her mild paranoia on hold, when you find out that someone is out to get you, it stops being paranoia and becomes healthy suspicion. That her superior officer, this one in particular, would collude with a Turian to… she didn't know **what**.

"Observe me for **what**?" she asked suspicion tingeing the looks she was giving the pair.

"Nihlus, has nominated you, for the Spectres," responded Anderson evenly.

"The Alliance has been pushing for this for a long time, Shepard," Anderson began.

"Humanity wants a larger role in shaping interstellar policy. We want more say with the Citadel Council. The Spectres represent the Council's power and authority…" he paused again.

"If they accept a Human into their ranks, it shows how far the Alliance has come."

At this point her brain decided to file a request for shore-leave and shut-down leaving her mouth open and on auto-pilot.

"But… But- I'm Human, why would you-"

"Not all Turians **resent** Humans," Nihlus began. "Some of us see the potential in your species. We see what you have to offer to the rest of the galaxy, and to the Spectres.

It's rare to find an individual with the skills **we seek**."

Nihlus casually took a step towards the poor bemused woman, "I don't care that you're **Human**, Shepard. I only care that you can get the job **done**," replied Nihlus curtly, "your record speaks for **itself**, not many could have **survived** what you went through on Akuze. You showed not only incredible skill, but also a strong will to **live** – a singularly **useful** talent, in a Spectre," noted Nihlus succinctly.

"Earth **needs** this, Commander," Anderson stated, trying to bolster her flagging spirits, "We're **counting** on you."

Not even the mention of that hell-hole could reboot her Brain at **that** point, so her brain still MIA, her mouth filled in the Blanks, "what now?"

"We will complete, the Mission on Eden Prime," he replied seemingly oblivious to her confusion, "I will need to see your skills myself. Then I will observe you on several Council Missions, and make a recommendation."

That statement rebooted her Awol. brain, and made her groan.

_Here I thought that Nihlus had a strange '__**human' fetish**_, she depressingly thought, _this is even __**worse**__. I woke up this morning thinking he was a '__**Stalker**__,' now… I realise its __**far worse**__. He wants to give me a surprise __**god-damn performance review**__. I swear; if they start pulling out ink-blot tests and start questioning my sanity, __**I gonna start shooting people!**_

"Well at least my day can't get any **worse**," replied Shepard sardonically.

Anderson and Nihlus looked at each other in confusion, but before either could respond to her comment-

=Captain! We've got a problem!=

"What's wrong, Joker?" Anderson asked, a tiny fraction of concern seeping into his voice.

=Transmission from Eden Prime, sir. You better see this= no sarcasm in his voice at all.

"Bring it up on Screen," Anderson commanded.

_Me and my __**big**__ mouth_, thought Shepard despondently.

* * *

+=Imperial Palace=+

+=Himalayas=+

+=Classified=+

+=En route Labratorum=+

+=[222.071.M31]=+

+=[12.14.09]=+

+=[mark: – 48.46.00]=+

* * *

Procession.

Immemorial.

Deployment.

They advanced through hallways, down passageways and into – and out of – large artificial caverns. The majority of the journey was spent underground, in bare rock passages, coming out of sprayed-rockcreet tunnels or passing plas-steel reinforced bunkers. After fifteen minutes they entered into an **opulent** hall; with white marble floors, rose-quartz columns, and golden engraved walls with gilded vaulted-ceilings. The displays of decadence was deceiving, as they advanced the number of guards increased exponentially, however unlike the pathway from the Armoury – the majority of the Custodians were facing **inward** – not outward. This worried the Sergeant – he had spent his entire life heading into danger – but compared to his meagre force, the forces arrayed before them and their destination were… **Legion**. He also – through his Witch-Sight – began to sense a sinister presence, a multitude of… **wounds** within the Warp. It was only a matter of time before he spotted the diminutive (and feminine) bronze armoured figures – with their shaved heads and top-knots – of the Sisters of Silence. The Defences didn't end with mere mortal defenders, embedded within the cap-stones of every column, resided multi-barrelled Servo-Skull Turrets. **Hundreds** within this first hall alone – which didn't disturb the hardened veteran so much – what disturbed Sigmund **severely**, was their motion. They not only tracked the party of Ultramarines, but every living being in the hall, as well as the vigilant Custodians and Sisters of Silence.

They had advanced through three gilded halls (each even more decadent than the last and far more heavily guarded than the one before) and down several spiral staircase-like avenues, before the Captain came across on the Vox – Company wide.

=Brothers, the next hall is the last, before the Science Chambers. When we arrive you are to advance along the left-hand side of the Chamber. Sergeant Sigmund you and Second Squad will take point. Sigmund you are our Pathfinder. On your signal, the Mark will begin. Confirm?=

He blinked affirmative (with the Retinal Command Interface) and his Rune blinked green across the Command-Net in his and Captain Braxton's helmets.

Braxton continued, =I want Squad checks before we enter the Labratorum Chamber. Once we across that threshold, I want vox-silence, there is some sensitive equipment in there. Confirm?=

Sigmund waited for the Runes – symbolising the Marines on Second Squad – to signal the Affirmative, to the Company wide broadcast. Once all the squads Runes were green, he blink-confirmed on the Command-Net.

They advanced toward the last chamber – before the Labratorum – and the doors swung open to reveal a space that **defied** their **comprehension**. There thousands of pitch-black glassy columns rising up, toward the roof… **unseen**, the field of pillars stretching **dimly** into the distance. Every pillar seemed to be formed out of a black (glass like) volcanic stone. Each column was seemingly **grown** into a hexagonal shape, and rose up and outward far beyond – even the edge of the Marines bellow and their genehanced-sight. Even with **his** prodigious vision, Sigmund couldn't see the roof of the Massive chamber, he activated is Auspex (in his helmet) and brought up the rangefinder and…

_That can't be right_, he thought in confusion.

+=[Range: Max]=+

_My rangefinder maxes out at __**Ten Thousand**__ meters, which means…_

He couldn't comprehend that.

_**How**__ did they construct such a space without the rest of the planet knowing_, he mentally pondered flabbergasted?

_Time to do some experimentation…_

He turned and tried his rangefinder again, this time on the Archway they had entered a short time before.

+=[Range: 2 000 meters]=+

_That's confusing…_

According to his Chronometer, they had barely been in the chamber more than a minute. He turned back toward the front of the group and noticed a… glimmer in the distance ahead of them. He tried his rangefinder again and got…

+=[Range: Max]=+

He decided to leave it running, and turned to other means to help discern the nature of the cavern around them. Deciding to test out his dormant abilities, he reached out with his mind, his vision shifting into the realm of Witch-Sight. And what he saw…

_By the Light on Terra…_

The cavern stretched out beyond **all measures** of proportion, a perfect hemi-sphere, which he sensed went far bellow his feet to form a perfect sphere. He saw the miles of intricate symbols and patterns imbedded in the smooth ground beneath his boots, and marvelled at the connections between the exterior wall and the Pillars that rose beyond his sight. The Pillars were mere **toothpicks** compared to **Sphere**. Each of the pillars seemed to channel energy inwards, from crystals set in the walls of the sphere. The sphere was a Geode, filled with crystals, and beyond that… nothing. Sudden realisation struck the Marine.

_This is a Psychic Isolation chamber_, he thought in wonder, _though __**what**__ level of energies would a man need to channel, to necessitate a structure this __**size**__, I can't even begin to fathom._

He could barely comprehend the Scale of the Gateway into the Warp Construct, how would he even begin to guide the rest of this meagre Company through the-

_**Beep…**_

His rangefinder got a return on the structure ahead, but before he could process that new data…

A pulse of psychic energy, echoed through the Chamber. The atmosphere became charged, he could feel a physical shift of the Energies within the controlled Realspace of the Chamber. He flinched at the sudden spike of energy, it tasted of desperation…

_We need to pick up the pace_, he thought, a small modicum worry entering the halls of his well trained mind, which his inner analytical self throttled the life out of. His sense of urgency must have also been shared by others in the group. He was not the only Battle-Brother to flinch – at the energy pulse – a Brother next to Captain Braxton flinched, as well as the Sigillite himself.

The Sigillite – after recovering – turned to his Custodian bodyguards and declared, "We must make haste. Our window of **opportunity** is closing."

The Custodian next to him nodded, and moved to pick up the First Lord of Terra, placing him within the crook of his left arm. The moment his feet left the ground the twenty-two trans-humans broke out into a superhuman sprint. Sigmund was about to turn his attention back to analysing the structure around him when he felt a presence touch his mind. Recoiling he-

_Sergeant_, called the voice within his mind, _listen very carefully, I only have so much time to explain-_

_My lord?_ Interrupted Sigmund, _what could be said that cannot be spoken over comm-chan-_

_These secrets are not for lesser ears_, interrupted the Sigillite projecting his thoughts toward the Marine, _we have used methods both Arcane and Mundane to create this opportunity. However the calm – that has been created within the Warp – is __**fading**__. I can sense the calm structured realspace, with the new sections of the Webway being torn apart._

As the Sigillite spoke, the pillars blurred past and up ahead the glimmer had turned into a blazing light with a golden Dome in the centre – rising up from the floor. The Sigillite continued to explain the nature of the Warp Construct – and the engines that stabilised and directed it – as they ran at super-human speeds. In less than five minutes they had reached the gilded dome at the centre of the Chamber, and the Sigillite turned his attention to the Entryway and its Guardians, while Sigmund turned his attention back to the readings in his Visor. When they had reached the Gateway he gazed up the gilded curve of the dome, and had he not been wearing a helmet at the time, his jaw would have landed at his feet…

+=[Range: 9 814 meters]=+

And he couldn't even **see** the top of the Dome from where he was standing – at first glance he thought to compare it to the great Domes of the Fortress of Hera, or the Dome within the Temple of Correction – but even the incomplete readings of this structure dwarfed them by comparison.

But before he could even try to comprehend the scale of this structure, the Doors to this grand basilica opened.

The amount of energy that flowed from within the Chamber was staggering, even Brother Julius – who stood to the right of Sigmund and was as clairvoyant as a brick – staggered at the wall of **Eldritch Energies** that struck them when the Doors were cast open.

The very weight of **Eternity** seemed to hang upon those hinges, as they advanced inward along a graceful golden-arc that spanned the chasm before them. As Sigmund crossed the bridge he realised that the inner mechanism of the Sphere, **defying gravity**, was suspended within it. While the Outer sphere forced the Laws of realspace upon those within it, the Inner sphere channelled the energy drawn from the larger sphere to **Break** those very Laws. At the centre of the chamber was an inverted hemi-sphere, at the centre of which an **unnaturally** bright light emanated. They crossed the bridge and advanced along the edge of the platform. As his eyes adjusted to the Corona of Light, Sigmund could make out figures within its… **brilliance**. Hundreds of robed figures, being herded along by dozens upon dozens of Custodians and Sisters of Silence, filled the platform – end to end. As his eyes adjusted further he could make out a pyramid structure – at least ten feet high – centred perfectly and symmetrically upon the platform and within the sphere. Tall monolith-like data stacks lay around the perimeter of the platform, with servitors hardwired into their stations between the digital standing-stones, like a strange group of Cyber-punk Druids. The Sigillite and his bodyguards advanced, and led them towards a large closed gateway (that seemed to lead nowhere) opposite the Entrance they had entered by.

"This is your entrance into the Webway," the Sigillite gestured toward the Doors, "**Hurry**, our time runs short."

Second Squad moved up and took up a forward position at the Gate, with the Command Squad arrayed behind them, while Malcador and his Custodians moved toward the Pyramid. The two semi-circles of – uniformly cobalt blue – Ultramarines stood with their golden arrowed helms facing the sealed doors; the odd ones out being Grammaticus, Delaphor, Braxton and Sigmund. Sigmund stood ahead of his Brothers; he moved to unlock the Bolter from his arm when…

_A presence…_

_ Gently touched… _

_The edge of…_

_His __**Mind**__…_

He hand never felt anything quite like it before. He turned toward it, and his eyes were drawn toward the Corona, lying at the very centre of the Chamber. With his Witch-Sight he gazed into the Light, what he found… was a man, whom he had only had the honour of being in the presence of… **twice**… before.

Atop the Golden pyramid sat a Throne of Electrum, and upon that throne… fit for a **God**, Sat a **Man**. Even seated **He** dwarfed even the Custodians within the Chamber; **He** was taller than them all. Sigmund had seen **Him** in the presence of **His** Sons, they seemed mere men before **Him**, even Guilliman. **His** Armour was Golden and Embossed with Eagles, **His** pauldrons wrapped within the Wings of Soaring Eagles, and **His** Taloned power-fists clasped upon the arms of **His** Throne. Atop **His** raven haired brow, rested a Golden Laurel, giving **His** Native-American features a stern appearance. At the very Centre of the Imperial Palace, atop a Golden Throne, blazing like the Sun… This could only be one **Man**…

Thus – facing the centre of the Chamber – he drew his massive power sword and placed the tip between his feet. He then Knelt before the **Emperor**, resting his helmeted head upon the hilt of his blade. He then felt the thrum of the Energy as it began to flow down his arms. He then heard the Energy as it crackled and hissed as it arched over his gauntlets. He then sensed the Energy activating the Sigils on his Nemesis Blade as a **Chill** entered his **Soul.**

He reached down – **deep within himself** – and found… the **Spark**.

The Energy arched from his blade and earthed itself within his armour, a **Chill** entered the room, and his Sigils began to **Glow**. An eldritch blue flame sprouted upon his pauldrons, with a flame so cold it burned, and the **Lenses** within his began to glow an eerie electric-blue. He turned back toward the gate, raising his eerie pale blue blade (pointed toward the roof of the chamber), and advanced upon the sealed **Gate**. As he advanced upon it, the **Gate** swung open of its own volition, revealing a Tunnel made of Cerulean Energies – solidified into reality.

Sigmund crossed the threshold, advancing like a Crusader of old, leading his Squad onward and acting like a **Beacon** for those who remain behind.

From his Vocaliser echoed – eerily – but a single Word, "**Mark.**"

* * *

+=[Mark: + 00.00.00]=+

* * *

+=SSV Normandy=+

+=Approaching Eden Prime=+

+=Engineering=+

+=Hanger=+

+=[42.183.M03]=+

+=[12.45.09]=+

+=[mark: – 48.14.00]=+

* * *

Preparation.

Shock.

Operations Commence.

Within the next forty-five minutes – of the Transmission from Eden Prime – they had arrived within visual range and had started the necessary procedures to enter the Atmosphere. Shepard had assembled here ground team – Kaiden and Jenkins – and they were busy checking their equipment in the Hanger. A dark cloud seemed to hang over the group – **centred** on Shepard – even Jenkins (a perky rookie, not more than an hour ago) was filled with quiet determination. The thought that someone would attack his home-colony, provided a rare moment of **clarity** and **purpose**. Kaiden seemed to be more concerned about his Commanding Officer, than his equipment, or even the upcoming Mission on Eden Prime.

Shepard had been **unnaturally** quiet since she had instructed the Squad to suit up. She wouldn't admit this to her adhoc team, but the Transmission from Eden Prime had **unnerved** her. For that exact reason, she had not shown them the Footage of that **thing**… She had instead just given them the bare minimum; the Planet was under **attack**, they were going in **secure** a Prothean Artefact, and thus **deny** it to the Enemy. **No** further Information, **no** Speculation, **no** Fear…

She tried to keep herself busy since then, however for the last half an hour, her mind kept turning back to that… horrible _**Transmission**_…

* * *

The Footage shakes…

Running. **Panic**…

Gunfire. **Screams**…

Distorted yelling…

Then a figure charged toward the Camera.

The Figure in white and… pink?… and cried, "get down."

Firing over their heads, the camera never turning toward the enemy.

A man ran toward the camera and started pleading, "We're under **Attack!**"

"We're taking heavy casualties. I repeat; [Static] 'vy Casualties. We can't-"

**Bang** – an explosion went off behind him, far too close for comfort.

He continued still quite distorted, "-peat **Need EVAC**!" the man started to panic, "they came out of nowhere! We nee-"

**Bang**- blood splattered the lens, the operator trying to wipe it off, turned to the corpse seemingly fixated on it as-

…_**Silence**_…

**Screams of the Damned**…

The Camera looks up at…

A… Leviathan descending from…

Wreathed in malevolent scarlet Energies…

The… Screeching grew far worse…

What was once a single voice was now… **Legion**.

The soldiers clutched their heads in pain, the Gunfire ceases.

Then …Static.

=Everything cuts out after that= replied Joker, breaking the Silence =No Comm. Traffic… at all. It just goes dead… There's nothing…=

"**Reverse** and **hold **at thirty-eight-point-five," Anderson quickly commanded.

The images flashed back until… that _**thing**_ filled the Screen. Anderson began to glare down the Leviathan before him.

"**Status report**," Barked Anderson, his steely gaze never leaving the image.

=Forty-five minutes out, Captain. No other Alliance ships in the Area= responded Joker emotionlessly.

"Take us in –Joker – fast and quiet," ordered Anderson, turning his gaze back to the screen, he commented glibly, "this Mission just got a **whole** lot more complicated."

Nihlus drew his eyes from the screen and turned to Anderson, "a small strike team can move in **quickly**, without drawing too much attention. It would probably be our best chance to secure the beacon," he suggested.

Nodding Anderson turned to Shepard, "head down to deck-two and gear up… Tell Alenko and Jenkins to gear up as well. When the three of you are ready, Nihlus and I will brief your team."

"Your going in…"

* * *

That was **almost** forty-five minutes ago, she had grabbed Kaiden and Jenkins, and her gear… and now she had to **wait**-

=Engaging Stealth Systems= reported Joker seriously, almost =somebody's been doing some serious digging down there, Captain=

Anderson who had been standing off to the side of the Hanger-Bay shook his head, turning to Shepard's Team he began the briefing, "your team's the **Muscle** in this Operation Commander. Go in **hard** and head **straight** for the Dig Site."

"What about survivors, Captain?" asked Alenko.

Anderson turned to the Lieutenant, and ruthlessly stated, "Evacuating survivors is a **Secondary** objective. The **Beacon's** your **Top** Priority."

=Approaching drop point-one= Joker stated breaking the flow of the briefing, as the Hangers Doors **hissed** open, the sound of the wind **howling** and **screeching** past the opening.

Nihlus moved toward the opening, and Jenkins asked, "You're not coming with us?"

"I move faster on my **Own**," Nihlus called over his shoulder, after checking his Shotgun, he advance along the Hanger. He jumped off the Edge of the Ramp, when the Normandy had slowed enough.

Elaborating not only to Jenkins, but the Squad as a whole, "Nihlus will scout ahead, and provide over-watch for your Squad. He'll feed you status reports, throughout the Mission, but otherwise I want radio **silence**."

=We're approaching drop point-two= called Joker, breaking Shepard out her own little world.

She turned forward to find Anderson his gaze locked with hers, "You're **ready **Commander."

Shepard turned back to Bay-Doors.

That wasn't a **Question**.

That was a **Statement**.

**A Statement. Of. Fact.**

She had looked into his eyes and saw nothing but **determination**.

He had **believed** in her, and he knew she was **ready**.

He **Knew** she could do it.

The ship slowed and Shepard ordered her team, "Squad Advance."

She marched forward and onward into History.

* * *

+=[Mark: + 00.00.00]=+

* * *

**Codex Entry: The Angel and the Butcher**

**Captain David Anderson and Admiral Steven Hackett are two of the most decorated Officers in the System Alliance Armed Forces; and are recognised for their actions on Elysium and Torfan respectively. During 2174, in what would be later called the 'Skyllian Blitz', a large Batarian Pirate Fleet struck several Human Worlds in the Traverse (see. Outside Council Space), culminating in an attack on Elysium, the most Populous World in the Sector. During the attack – then Lieutenant-Commander – David Anderson, while on leave, joined the Planetary Defence Forces (see. Human Military Doctrine, Sub-Folder: PDF) in an attempt to repel the Slavers. The severely out-numbered defenders had already suffered significant losses when the PDF barracks (on the Outskirts of the Capital) was shelled from high orbit. He was eventually cut-off and isolated from the rest of his adhoc-unit during the opening stages of the planetary assault, to his credit he stood his ground and – single-handedly – defended an entire bunker of Civilians. His actions and those of the remaining defenders, delayed the Pirate Ground Forces, thus allowing the Twelfth and Seventh Fleet (from Arcturus) to rendezvous and cut-off the Pirate Fleets escape route. Trapped within the Gravity Well of the Planet, and thus severely outnumbered, the majority of the fleet was annihilated in orbit. Trapped between the re-enforced Defenders and the superior firepower of the Fleet, the Pirate Ground Forces surrendered on-masse.**

**Within half-an-hour, Intel had been gleamed, through more dubious and suspect methods, which thus allowed the Alliance Intelligence Agency (see. Human Intelligence and Counter-Espionage, Sub-Folder: AIA) to trace the raid to the Pirate Moon of Torfan. Admiral Hackett – in a move that would be called Reckless and Suicidal by some Brave, and Brave and Daring by others – made an Executive Decision and began deploying the Entire Seventh Fleet in an Operation against the Slavers of Torfan.**

**Within an hour-and-a-half of the Relief of Elysium, the Seventh Fleet made contact with Pirate Elements above Torfan. Using Pin-Point Jumping (see. Relay Jumps in System), the Fleet arrived dangerously close and well within the Gravity Well of the Moon. Two Frigates were lost with all hands, and a Light Cruiser was crippled. However the Gambit payed-off, and the Alliance (retaining the Element of Surprise) Crippled or Sunk the majority of the Pirate Fleet in Orbit. Once Orbital Superiority was achieved, Hackett delivered a now infamous Ultimatum… Surrender or Die.**

**What followed was one-hundred-and seventy-five hours of the most brutal combat in Human History. While Alliance Marines assaulted the bunkers on the Moon, and the Batarians responded by Booby-trapping everything conceivable from buildings to captured prisoners and slaves, thus leading to severe casualty rates (in some Marine units) as high as Sixty-Five Percent. At the end of the Battle; nearly three-hundred-thousand Pirates lay dead, for the Loss of approximately Fifteen-Thousand Alliance personnel. Approximately one-hundred-and-fifty thousand slaves (of various Citadel Races) had been Liberated.**

**Citadel Analysts, have commented that it was the most brutal fighting the Galaxy had seen since the Krogan rebellions. Leading calls within the Turian Hierarchy to either dismantle all Human Military Forces, or alternately offer them a seat upon the Citadel Council, in an attempt to avoid a Galaxy wide conflict. Admiral Hackett is famously recorded warning the Batarians to cease funding any and all Slavers in the Traverse, "… we wouldn't want to see another Torfan happening on say… Khar'Shan… now would we?"**

**The Batarian Hegemony has vehemently denied any and all accusations of collusion with Slavers and Pirate Factions within the Traverse. It is therefore ironic that the entirety of the 'Trade in Sentient Beings' is funded by the demand for Slaves within the Batarian Sphere of Influence (see. Batarian Caste System).**

* * *

**There you have the First two instalments of "Upon the Wings of Eagles" my first – and so far only – attempted at FanFiction.**

**All Reviews are welcome and appreciated, however I asked that Reviewers critique my Actual Writing and not the Content.**

**The Warhammer 40k Universe is vast and often contradictory, and therefore I have tried to piece together a vast amount of interconnected stories into one (mostly) cohesive whole.**

**At the Time of First Post I have already written the First Nine Instalments of this Series, and therefore any and all Plot Devices/Choices are done to give the Story the best Flow and Cohesion as possible.**

**Please, do not Flame me… or I will remove your Reviews and/or Comments.**

**I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I have had writing it.**

**I will post the Next Part on the 30 of September (2013)**


	3. Chapter 3 - Arrival

**Date Published: 30/09/2013**

**Date Re-Edited: N/A**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

* * *

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

**- Arrival -**

* * *

**+=Warp=+**

**+=?=+**

**+=Classified=+**

**+=?=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: + 04.00.00]=+**

* * *

Perception.

Connection.

Threat.

The first step, overwhelming mental pressure.

**+=[Chronograph: Failure]=+**

The second step, overwhelming spiritual vastness.

**+=[Locator: Failure]= +**

The third step, he sensed… nothing.

**+=[Auspex: Failure]= +**

The burning man, comes to a halt.

**+=[Command-net: Signal Lost]= +**

He turned to face those that follow.

**+=[Squad-net: Signal Lost]= +**

His eyes pass each and every living soul.

**+=[Error: Critical System Failure]= +**

As he turns to his squad, he sees the light in their crimson lenses die.

He sees through their chest-plates, their hearts still beat.

He gazes into their minds, they are still their own.

He reaches out to pluck their life lines.

Their souls still rung true.

He cast his witch-sight back, along the tunnel.

Back past immaterial league after immaterial league.

Far back into the chamber, back toward that golden throne.

As his spectral form crossed the threshold, he was blinded.

Before him there were two suns, they burned so bright.

The larger seemed to burn through the smaller one.

He couldn't bring his gaze upon the brightest sun.

He couldn't even touch the largest of the suns.

So he reached out toward the smaller sun.

* * *

Malcador stood waiting at the base of the golden pyramid. He was becoming anxious. Sigmund's Squad had been gone for hours, they lost contact the moment they had crossed the threshold.

_Should I send someone els-_

Something crossed the rippling barrier of energy, he opened his third-eye, and shifted his gaze into his warp-sight. Before him stood a large Azure spectral dragon, its tail trailing back into the Webway. The ethereal creature raised its right forepaw, and – before the Sigillite could raise his defences – the immensely powerful creature touched his forehead with its claw.

_My Lord_, echoed perhaps one of the most powerful minds he had ever come in contact with, _we have secured the other side of the portal. Armour systems are down and we have lost Vox-communication._

Realisation dawned within the Sigillite, _Sigmund?_

_Affirmative,_ rumbled the spectral dragon emotionlessly within the confines of his mind.

Malcador was stunned; most Warp Constructs were creatures of pure emotion, but this… machine. It was made of pure willpower. He turned to the Gate, and signalled Captain Braxton's Squad.

"I have made contact with Sergeant Sigmund; the threshold of the Webway is secure. You may proceed."

Captain Braxton signalled to his Command Squad to advance forward, the Ancient Domitian and Sergeant Braellen were the first to cross the barrier…

* * *

Sigmunds thoughts turned back to his Squad, I have made contact with the Sigillite. They are sending the Command Squad through.

He felt a feeling of disgust flare within the mind of Brother Julius at his mental touch. He sent a sense of apathy back down the mental link, turning that strained feeling of disgust into the smouldering… burn of Anger. Dismissing the fuming Julius and his impotent anger, to the back of his mind, his focus turning back toward the entrance of the Webway. With the Sigillite as his mental anchor, he was no longer cast about upon the temporal maelstrom that is the Warp. With clarity, he began to reach out toward the Command Squad with his mind. He reached out and touch the minds of the first Marines to cross the threshold barrier. He felt the measured and controlled thoughts of the Ancient Domitian – the Company Standard Bearer – and then he felt the sharp and tactical vision of first Sergeant Braellen, as his mind came into contact with his thoughts.

He began to pass on the information he had gathered on the surround warp, but before he could finish the transfer, another being began to pass the barrier. He reached toward the latest arrivals and began to pass them-

A Continent of thought, shifted bellow them…

And a tidal wave of emotion struck the Webway…

Again and again… Strike after strike…

It took all of his concentration…

To Hold onto the… fragile connection with Malcador…

And then… the sea of emotion, just… ebbed away…

His mind turned back to his Squad, he could feel their confusion.

He reached out to sooth their-

The Continent surged upward, and struck the Webway…

Shattering the connections to the Gateway…

And allowing the raw essence of the Warp…

To flow into the Palace…

Sigmund didn't feel any of that.

He didn't sense the barrier break.

And he did not witness the Horror…

That entered the gilded labratorum.

He did not feel the outright panick of the Tech-Priests.

Or the utter sense of certainty of the Minds of the Custodians.

All he felt… was pain.

All he felt was the agony… of his body being torn apart.

All he felt was the horror… as his soul was ripped to pieces.

Again and again…

Unendingly until…

The pain stopped…

He looked up to see –

A bolter levelled at his head.

"**What. Did. You. Do**," screamed Julius his voice muffled through backup manual respirator.

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Outskirts=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[06.00.10]=+**

**+=[mark: + 06.00.00]=+**

* * *

"The perimeter is secure, Commander," came Kaiden's voice from behind her.

They advanced down the hill, until they forded along a stream and into… a dead-end.

"Damn… a landslide," Shepard began, "we'll have to hike around or mantle over that."

"Ummm… Commander," Jenkins tried to meekly interject.

"Not now Jenkins, we need to find a way around this quickly."

"The thing is –"

"Private, if you try to disrupt my concentration one more time, I'll –"

"S'cuse me, Ma'am," began Kaiden placing himself between Jenkins and the volatile redhead, "but Constant – and the objective – is in the opposite direction."

Shepard looked back at the rockslide, and then in the direction Kaiden had indicated, "Are you certain Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Commander," replied Alenko clearly and succinctly.

"Very well… carryon then," responded Shepard imperiously.

She advanced past her squad to take point, so that her team couldn't see her face. Which had turned an interesting shade of crimson.

_How embarrassing_, thought Shepard mortified, _I didn't think my sense of direction was that bad._

Before they could get out of the blocked stream, the comm. sprang to life.

**=This is Nihlus, keep your guard up. The Colony got hit hard.=**

They took his warning to heart. They began to move slower, with their rifles raised and their formation spread out (for safety). Shepard didn't want her entire squad taken out by a single rifle burst.

They rounded an outcropping of rock; Shepard brought the squad to a halt with a single raised fist. Ahead of the Squad was a thin strip of barren land, sandwiched between a steep drop-off (on the right) and a vertical cliff (on the left). The area ahead of them was liberally sprinkled with cover.

_There is something wrong with this approach_, thought Shepard warily.

"Jenkins, you take point," she gestured him forward, "no unnecessary risks."

They'd cover each other, leap-frogging from position to position until they reach the cover of the forest.

It was a good plan…

**Jenkins dashed forward…**

But as General Patton once said…

**Shepard and Kaiden took cover…**

That no plan…

**Jenkins leaped behind the cover again…**

No matter how good…

**Jenkins tried to go just that little bit further…**

Survives first contact…

**Fzzzt… BOOOM!**

Before Jenkins could react…

An EMP pulse dropped his shields…

The secondary blast slamming him down…

Into the ground, ripping his suit and pulping flesh…

Before the dust had settled…

Before they could reach Jenkins…

A pack of Drones strafed his form…

Shredding the fallen Marine to bits…

That left Shepard and Kaiden, exposed and on the defensive…

They ducked into cover, **fzzt – Bang**, redeploy to new position…

Put a burst into that one, take cover, wait for shields to recharge…

On and on this went; there seemed no end to the damn things...

After awhile her body just started going through the motions…

Then she swung round from cover, brought up her Rifle to find…

**Nothing.**

They had eliminated all enemy contacts; Kaiden was already out of cover.

He was bent over the fallen form of Jenkins, trying to check his vitals manually.

Hope flared in her chest, his suit-computer had flat-lined, but there was still –

Kaiden turned and shook his head bitterly…

"Damn-it!" he cried pounding the ground with a clenched fist, "I should have scanned for Mines. That two-phase Tech-Mine was near god-damn textbook!"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," replied Shepard emotionlessly, "your scans probably wouldn't have picked up anything… did you notice how our targeting suites were jammed after those blasts?"

She went down on one knee, and dragged a gauntlet through the pock-marked ground.

"We're dealing with intelligent mines made from weapons-grade superconducting materials here, they're probably going to be all but impossible to detect with our Omni-tools."

She reached down to Jenkins and pulled of his digital-tags.

"Which begs the question," responded Kaiden flatly, "who fabricates disposable munitions from weapons-grade superconductors?"

The question left unanswered, they advanced cautiously up the hill toward the forest.

The two Biotics taking turns firing kinetic-blasts at the ground ahead of them.

If technology failed them, they would fall back to a tried and true method.

The precision application of brute force…

* * *

**+=Imperial Palace=+**

**+=Himalayas=+**

**+=Classified=+**

**+=Labratorum=+**

**+=[222.071.M31]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: + ?.?.?]=+**

* * *

Agony.

Retribution.

Purpose.

**Pain**… all the Sigillite felt…

Pure… seemingly **endless** pain…

There was just… too much energy…

The Spectral Dragon?

**Gone…**

Captain Braxton?

**A carbon smear…**

What of Sergeant Sigmund where –

An image, appeared in his mind-eye…

The image, of… a bolter, levelled at his…

No… Sigmund's… head. The figure holding it…

…Warped…

…Twisted…

…Radiating…

…Malice…

…Hatred…

"**WHAT. DID. YOU. DO**!" screamed the tainted figure.

His finger tightening upon the trigger until…

* * *

"**Noooo**," screamed the Sigillite, his mind revolting against the premonition.

Turning to his Custodian guardians, "we need to act."

Gripping his staff tightly, he used it to struggle to his feet.

"Take two of the Sisters," he instructed Fabius Durio, "Sigmund is imperilled by a tainted… creature."

Durio hesitated, "but my Lord, you –"

"**Go now**… before we are over-run!"

Durio deciding to act, turned and signaled to nearby Sisters and Gordian (another bodyguard to the Sigillite), and charged the seething energies of the Portal. The Sigillite… exhausted… passed-out, into the arms of his remaining guardian. His dreams filled with visions of a red-headed woman floating before a glowing eldritch pylon, that seemed to glow through her…

* * *

Sigmund had often woken up to find something trying to kill him, like a twenty-foot giant scorpions for instance. So when awoke to find Brother Julius, with a rather large looking Bolter aimed directly at his skull. He really shouldn't have been that surprised, nothing bad had happened to him in awhile, so the universe was just waiting for an opportunity to throw a metaphorical lightning bolt at him. He gazed into the twisted mind of fallen marine before him, what he saw filled him with nothing but the deepest sense of disgust.

So… he began to reach down… deep into himself.

He soon realised he had enough raw energy…

Permeating through him that he could obliterate…

This feeble little speck before him… with a thought.

All it would take was –

And then he felt it… the construct flexed and cracked bellow him.

Only then did he realise the true danger they really were in.

All it would take, to break the bonds holding the construct together.

All it would take… was one more **Death**.

All it would take… is one more **Soul**.

All it would take… is one more **Sacrifice**.

And this entire section would collapse… casting them all into the warp. He had to talk the deranged Marine down; they couldn't risk more blood being spilt.

"Calm down, Brother. You need to listen to –"

**Crack!**

Julius struck out at the Sergeant, with the butt of his bolter, knocking him down and splitting the skin on the left-hand temple.

"**No**! You Listen. Finally I will be rewarded. Finally they all will see the **Truth**. The Emperor in all his wisdom knew –"

In his concussed state, Sigmund didn't hear the rant of the Warp-addled Marine… to be honest he didn't much care what the little shit had to say. In his confused state the only voice that went through his mind was his own.

_Where is my helmet?_

On his hands and knees, he swept his gaze drunkenly from side to side, looking for his errant headgear.

There next to –

His eyes were drawn to the form of Grammaticus hunched over, and tending to a wounded Braellen, and a almost catatonic Domitian. It showed true dedication that – even unconscious – he held the company standard in a death-grip. The rest of the Squad, were trapped in Time, like flies in Amber. He left Julius to continue his rant, while he returned his helm to its proper place.

He needed to gather his forces and marshal his faculties.

He needed to stem the flow of warp energies, which were bleeding into the Webway.

He began to reach out with his mind towards his trapped squad-mates. The first mind he touched was that of Grammaticus, he then felt the **pain crippled** mind of Braellen, and he then touched the **blank** mind of the **catatonic** Domitian. Sensing the empty wound that was his mind, Sigmund felt for the shattered pieces of his fractured mind, he then began to piece his identity back together. While tending to his fallen brother his mind continued to reach out searching for his other brothers – lost in time. He touched a **mind** that ran like **treacle**, it was… Merrik, then he found Gaius. He kept searching for the **sluggish** thoughts, of those that were trapped in time. He found Vespasion and Greavus at the exact same time, but it took him several agony filled minutes… or was it hours… searching, until he finally found… Delaphor.

But before he could draw them back into real time, a palpable sense of dread began to fill the halls and pathways of the Webway.

The Tunnel began to solidify, and stabilize, but the Marines remained trapped outside the flow of time.

Trying to find the source of this phenomenon, he looked behind Julius and his heart sank in to a deep pit that had formed in the very pit of his stomach.

Behind the unhinged Marine, advanced a malevolent pair of women upon the unsuspecting and ignorant… **fool**. As they advanced he felt the warp energies leave him, sapping his strength, as he became blind to the Warp around him. The Silent Sisters were unaware of what effect they had on the surrounding Warp, a construct made purely of Warp-Energies and Will that couldn't exist in the enforced Real-space surrounding the Pariahs. His warp-strength leaving him, he sank to his knees, and collapsed feebly to the bottom of the Tunnel.

"Noooo…" he begged weakly as the first sister drove her power-sword through Julius, his pack and out of his chest-plate.

Stunned the tainted Marine dropped his bolter, as the Sister stepped back withdrawing her now crimson blade. The trauma of the injury began to make itself known, as his legs gave out. His hearts torn, his spines severed, and the power-supply for his armour dead. Julius's form sank down to the tunnel floor; **shock** the only emotion the found purchase upon his pale face.

A shadow fell upon his face, as the two sisters stood over his crumpled form. The very last thing he saw, as the second Sister brought her down in a descending arch toward his throat, were the names upon their armoured collars.

**Wyrd and Andlat.**

_**Fate and Death.**_

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Outskirts=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[23.17.10]=+**

**+=[mark: + 23.17.00]=+**

* * *

Advance.

Encounter.

Horror.

Silence; filled with the muffled crunch of vulcanised rubber-soles passing over dead leaves, under the vaulted canopy of a forested hill. Two figures were seen advancing between the trees, hugging the trunks and bowls, spurning the open ground. What little light that could pass through the canopy, was deathly weak. Blocked by the maelstrom above, which swirled around an abysmal black… _**creature**_, hovering above the Capital… Constant. As they advanced through the forest, Nihlus came across on the radio, with frightening news. He had found civilians, their charred remains anyway, cut-down right next to their defence forces. The solitary pair advanced with steeled determination toward the edge of the forest, and crouched behind a boulder. The edge of the forest rested upon the crest of the hill, which sloped down into the crevice below.

Shepard stopped and raised her left-arm; the orange glow of her Omni-tool sprang to life. She examined the map of the area (that she had already memorised in the garage back on the Normandy), to see that the dig-site was only accessible (from this direction anyway) by that small gorge down below. She was about to signal Kaiden to advance, when –

**BA-BA-BA-BANG!**

A panicked soldier wearing white (_and… was that pink?_) armour, was being chased by a pair of flying drones towards the hill. Suddenly she tripped… and just when Shepard thought that Barbie was done for…

She tumbled and rolled…

Rose up on one knee…

Brought up her side-arm…

And blew those drones away…

_Whoa… impressive, now get out of there, thought Shepard tactically, wait… what is she doing. No don't stop stare… at… the –_

Some robots had grabbed a 'civie', and were dragging him toward some kind of squat cylinder on a tri-pod. They held him over the rounded end of the device, and…

_My God it was horrible…_

The machines then turned their attention on the lone – and pink – marine, and began to open fire.

Shepard and Kaiden charged –

No-words need be said at all–

Down the hill, point blank –

They need not feel any fear –

**BANG**

The sound of gunfire, the flash of Biotics…

No need to ask for mercy or surrender…

No need for control, finesse or subtlety...

And then… it was over. Nearly a dozen strange alien corpses lay strewn across the field. Shepard knelt down on one knee to examine the dead aliens, a strange white fluid seeped from the creatures wounds. She drew a finger through the fluid and brought it up to her nose.

_It smelt of… synthetic grease?_

"What are they, Commander?" asked Kaiden, from his guarding position.

"I think these things are Geth," responded Shepard factually.

"But… the Geth haven't been seen beyond the Persius Veil, in almost three hundred years," interrupted the still unidentified Marine, "um… sorry, ma'am. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212th."

Almost ignoring the Williams, Kaiden replied with confusion, "Geth? What are they doing on Eden Prime?"

"One problem at a time, L-T," replied Shepard diplomatically, "first off… Chief where's the **rest** of your Squad?"

Ashley hung her head, "**Gone**… we were on patrol, when the attack began. We tried to regroup with the rest of the Division at our Barracks, but…"

Silence pervaded the clearing until Ashley sighed and, "we were ambushed trying to reach the main fallback position. We tried to send out a distress call, h-huh, but they have been blocking all of our comm.-links. I don't know if we managed to transmit the Vid. or not. We tried to withdraw to a more defensible position, but… they just cut us to ribbons…"

"It's okay Chief," replied Shepard consolingly, placing her free hand on the suffering women's shoulder, she knew that feeling well; "the best thing to do is complete the mission. We need to do what we can… **here and now**."

Shepard turned to Kaiden, "we can mourn the fallen later, for now we have a mission to complete. We need to get to that dig-site."

Ashley seemed to perk up slightly at this, "when the Beacon was found, my Division was deployed to guard the Site. I can lead you there."

Damn, thought Shepard, word probably got out about the Beacon before we could even deployed to get here…

"Lead the way," Shepard instructed her new Squad mate.

* * *

**+=Warp=+**

**+=?=+**

**+=Classified=+**

**+=?=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: + 09.18.00]=+**

* * *

Visions.

Cataclysm.

Retreat.

He floated on a Sea of energy.

The current was swift and strong.

He was being swept along and away.

The energy current was brutal and chaotic.

He had no anchor, no guidance, no support, he –

_**A Tug.**_

_**A Pull.**_

_**A Gentle Grasp.**_

At the core of his soul.

Contact.

Intimate.

Sanctuary.

He was drawn – downward – toward an eldritch pulsing vein.

He drew the calming energy from the link into himself.

His vision flickered and changed, his senses grew.

No longer trapped within his mortal flesh.

The realm of mortal senses shrank.

He saw all within the artery.

_Webway_, his memory provided.

He saw within the Webway, he saw the flickering souls within.

He was drawn toward the brightest figure on his knees.

The tunnel was filled with living silvery veins.

These twisting lines extended outward.

At the centre, the blue dragon.

His soul touched everyone.

Everyone except…

The only creature that his soul didn't touch… was ugly, twisted and broken.

A sense of wrongness pervaded his mind, as hideous twisting energies, snaked along its form.

The energy poisoned everything around it; it poisoned his soul and his mind.

He reached out toward the dragon, he recognised, his task was vital; crucial.

He must succeed, he must –

A hand closed around his wrist.

He turned… and beheld an Angel.

A being made of pure energy and light.

Flowing through her robes and across the…

Hieroglyphs that wreathed her form in energy.

Flowing across her entire being from head to toe.

_He must fail or succeed on his __**own**__,_ spoke a feminine voice – like ringing crystal – directly into his mind.

_I have seen… we cannot let him fail,_ wept the man across their link.

_So have I,_ soothed the spectral angel, calming the seething turmoil within his mind with a sea of soothing feelings.

She turned back to the psychological duel continuing bellow them; she looked upon this grand spectacle and saw the final players of this act approaching.

_And so the curtain rises on our little play,_ spoke the angelic vision,_ I must leave to await my cue._

And so the spectre of serenity departed leaving the lone watcher bereft, to continue on with his vital task. Bellow a new party approached the battle of wills, two shining giants and a pair of… wounds within the warp. The walls of the Webway thinned and trembled at the approach of these titanic entities. The wounds broke off from the giants shadows and charged ahead, to strike down the twisted-one. The broken body of the twisted-one fell to the ground, one of the shadows raised a shard of malice, and **struck** –

* * *

Raw energy flooded into the Webway, as the **Death** of Brother Julius **shattered** the walls holding this small segment of real-space together, with in the maelstrom of the warp. The nightmarish denizens of this twisted hell-scape realm began to flood into the Webway, only to break harmlessly against the armour of the defenders. The field of enforced real-space that surrounded the Silent Sisters began breaking the bonds of psychic energy that held the Daemons together. None of the nightmarish creatures could reach the figures within the Webway, but their continued attacks began to eat away at the psychic walls holding this small pocket reality together.

Sigmund reached for the Warp Device, it was their only hope, for the way back had been **Lost** to them. He pressed the second bevelled button, and he felt a surge of energy travelling up his arm. He channelled and corralled the raging energy into the very centre of his chest, at the very **Apex** of flowing Norse-like script upon his Runic-power armour. It built and built within his chest, his body fighting against the raging surreal energies and the influence of the enforced real-space that surrounded him, struggling for dominance within him. His body was **torn**; his mind was **divided**, between **struggling** to channel the raw energy from the warp device, and defending his psyche from the feral psychic attacks of the denizens of the Warp. As the battle continued to rage within the halls of his mind, the strain just grew and grew, as the struggle between the real and unreal realties was slowly tearing his mind apart. As the energy levels grew and grew, it threatened to tear its fleshy vessel apart, violently releasing the pent-up power in his chest.

A single thought pulsed through his mental link between him and his Squad.

_You must hold._

_You must hold._

_You must hold._

_You must hold._

_You must hold._

_**I MUST HOLD!**_

The device emptied the final trickle of pure warp energy into the body of the poor Marine. His soul began to ring and **echo** throughout the caverns of the Webway, with a single **pure** crystalline **Note**. Sensing the inevitable, he speared his consciousness – outward – searching for the Custodians and the Sisters of Silence. The very essence of the Sisters and their existence tore at the fraying edges of his mind, trying to undo all that he had accomplished through his Sorcery. Unbidden the pure **Note** continued to grow, eventually reaching a deafening crescendo. The feral energies tore apart the broken corpse of Brother Julius, obliterating him from History. With a blinding flash, his Sorcery ripped them from the Warp, casting them blindly into Real-space.

* * *

When his sight returned, Sigmund found himself prone – on his hands and knees – at the edge of a small airy forest. He tried to reach out with his mind, to survey his surroundings, when a **blinding pain** spiked and burnt through his mind. He withdrew from the flow of energy around him, and the mind numbing pain receded. The trauma of the Warp Transit thus prevented him from channelling the energy through his mind; he couldn't access his abilities… he was completely blind. He looked down at the Warp Device in his hand, flipping the cover open, to reveal that energy within the Device was completely spent. He looked to his left and then to his right, he could find neither sign nor trace of his Squad. He lifted his gaze from the grass beneath his boots, to the gleaming city on the edge of the Horizon. His eyes were drawn irrevocably toward the giant beetle-black leviathan the drifted inverted like an ancient Kraken in the centre of a biblical maelstrom.

At the sight of the malevolent leviathan, a memory stirred within the caverns of his mind;_ it will become apparent in time…_

_**The Scrolls…**_

He reached into the satchel at his waist blindly, and pulled out the first cylinder that the palm of his hand came in contact with. He pulled out the bronzed scroll, and gazed upon the intricate crimson wax seal. It bore a stylized double 'I' within the intricately embossed seal, the bronze casing was engraved with the imagery of entwined dragons, feral in appearance circling each other. He broke the seal and opened the scroll.

**+=Your Squad is Safe=+**

**+=Find the Beacon=+**

**+=Follow the Shepard=+**

**+=Hunt down the Spectre=+**

**+=Entrust your War-gear to the Machinist=+**

**+=And Remember… to entrust your Soul to the Archaeologist=+**

_What Beacon?_

…and then he sensed **it**, on the very edge of his mindscape, resting upon the very edge of his half-blinded witch-sight, a small trickle of the Warp into this reality. **It** was barely there, weak and inactive; flowing across the lay-lines of this world, a nexus of the power that was near the very heart of the city. He rose from his knees, to his full height and began to check his war-gear. He racked the bolt on his bolter, and began his **inexorable** march toward the glistening city upon the Horizon.

And from the crest of the hill behind him, two solitary figures watched. A brown-cloaked figure with an organic looking bone-white rifle trained upon the back of the retreating form of Sergeant Sigmund, and the Astral form of the First Lord of Terra.

_**Malcador the Sigillite.**_

* * *

**Code Entry: Time Travel**

**For centuries Citadel Scientists have debated the 'Theoretical Existence of Alternate Realities and Time-Travel'. Salarian Scientists first postulated the 'Improbability of Time Travel' that – simply put – the very action of utilising a Time Machine would alter the events leading up to the Development and/or Deployment of the Time Machine itself and/or alter the events of the individuals whom developed the machine, etc. Ergo/Therefore the moment a Time Machine is activated; it would cease to exist. It wasn't until Dr. Sari D'Lan (an Asari Physicist) postulated the 'Existence of Alternate Realties and/or Plains of Existence', that actual time, effort and research was expended upon the Concept. From that research, a Theoretical Particle, the "Tachyon" (in English) was first postulated (approximately 325 Standard Years ago). Over the centuries many countless individuals have claimed or asserted to have either observed or recorded Tachyons in a variety of interstellar phenomenon. It wasn't until the 11****th**** of February 2183 (see. Human – 'Gregorian Calendar'), that the First – and Second (if not disputed) – recording of Tachyons occurred aboard the 'SSV Normandy' during the Geth Assault on Eden Prime (see. 'The Saren Affair'/'First Battle of the Citadel'). It would later be determined that Tachyons, were one of the many forms of radiation emitted (and observed) during Warp Transit (see. Warp Tech/Teleporter/Gellar Field).**

* * *

**Codex Entry: Sigmund "The Terrible" Tyrannus**

**Citadel News Network: 23****rd**** March 2184**

**Audio Transcript:**

**Emily Wong: **

**So Captain, with almost two Centuries of combat experience under your belt, you must have some interesting stories.**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**Well… there was this one time. We were about to conduct an inspection of some representative Council, on a Moon above their home Planet. So… there we were. Flying in on this little Stormbird, and out of no~where… we start getting radar locks, and the Sky just filled with Flak. We~ll… at least I think it was a radar lock. I was standing at the door. I heard a Beep, then a Bang, and felt a Bump. After that the world was just spinning as I went ass-over-tea-kettle out the door.**

**Emily Wong:**

**My word that does sound harrowing… I suppose you were wearing some sort of arresting gear?**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**Na~ah, all I had was my Power Armour, the trees broke my fall. The Jungle was mostly Sub-Tropical, vines and conifers and such. So I get down out of a tree, and boy… was I pissed. We were there as diplomats, we were there to discuss terms and bring the system into Compliance, and here these bastards were shooting at us. It's-**

**Emily Wong:**

**Sorry to interrupt Captain… but could you please explain the term "Compliance?"**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**Not a problem miss Wong, standard military practice, during the Great Crusade (otherwise known as the Great Unification) was to Scout out each system systematically. When a Civilisation or Lost Culture was found, we would give them a choice, join us or else. If they said no, we'd send a fleet to force them to join us. Either way once they agreed to out terms, an Imperial delegation would be dispatched (usually spear-headed by a Space Marine detachment) to ensure that they complied with Imperial Law. Brutal I know, but all we truly enforced upon them was an interpretation of Imperial Law.**

**Emily Wong:**

**Could you explain the legal requirements of Imperial Law further.**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**Well, its not exactly set in stone. It's more a series of loosely interpreted conditions required for Compliance. The first requirement was the Rule of Law. A loose interpretation of the Magna Carta; the right to own property, the right to a fair trial, and so on and so forth. The second requirement was Imposition of Civilisation and Planetary Governance. To extrapolate further on that; we would impose structure upon Anarchy, the observation and monitoring of Psychically Gifted individuals, and other such measures to create a semblance of Order and to prevent incursions of Warp Entities into Realspace. Finally we would appoint a planetary governor to manage the planet and if necessary the system. If the World is sufficiently advanced and unified, we would appoint the overall ruler of that World as planetary governor. If the world is divided or not significantly advanced enough an outside governor would be appointed. The Final Requirement is the application of the Imperial Tithe. The Tithe is simply a logistical requirement. There are several grades within the Tithe; each corresponding to either a certain size of population, a specific resource unique to that world, or a certain type of technological development. These resources would be used to govern the System and provide further resources for the Great Crusade.**

**Emily Wong:**

**What about those worlds that do not have significant population or resources, would the Tithe still be applied to them?**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**Of course we wouldn't impose unreasonable requirements upon such worlds. There is a Tithe Grade – Adeptus Non – is roughly translates to 'not applicable.' These worlds would not be required to contribute and would actually be eligible to receive outside resources to provide the necessary protection and services for governance. My home-world of Sycorax, fell under the Tithe Grade of Adeptus Non. It is a Death World and as such could not physically provide resources beyond subsistence levels for the population. But I digress, you wanted to hear a Swash-buckling tale of adventure and here we turn to talk of standard government procedures… So the reason I was so 'upset' was… well they had already agreed to join us, we were there to discuss terms, without even the threat of violence. So there we where, on a Diplomatic Mission, on Neutral Ground, and they were shooting at us. This little hell-hole we were meeting on didn't even have a name, it was just a little moon (an extra-solar capture) best maybe described as a dwarf planet. The damn thing was smaller than Pluto. However it still had a biosphere, transplanted from its parent planet, Varestus Prime. The place had scorpions the size of battle tanks, everything on that place was either poisonous or carnivorous, even the plants! So there I was, on foot, basically trying to triangulate the radar guided flak batteries, by trying to 'eye-ball' it. So I tracked down one of the flak-guns, I killed the crew, and tapped into their Comms. I managed to find where the enemy commander was going to be. What I found was his extraction point, so I headed over and got ready waiting for him at the LZ. He showed up six hours later, as I was about engage, this little stubby V-TOL flew over me. The pilot landed in the clearing and rotated the nose of the craft to face me, head-on. I had a choice; let him get on that craft, or take out the shuttle. If he flew away we'd never catch him, but if I shot now he'd bolt and I'd lose him. Either way it was a lose-lose situation. So… I took the Shot. Right through the Canopy. In such a confined space, it was like a grenade going off in a fuel drum. The shuttle hit the ground, blew sky-high, and the enemy general bug-out of there faster than a Politian from the Truth. **

**(Audio Disruption: General Chuckling)**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**So they fled into the Jungle. His men weren't prepared for that environment, they were dropping like flies. They left a trail of bodies – a mile wide – right to their camp. But by the time we got there, I had pursued them across three continents, and I had exhausted all my ammo. After a dozen ambushes the enemy had set for me, and the local floral and fauna, I didn't have round to my name. So there I was, looking for a way to get to him, and all I had was an empty bolter, my trusty combat knife, and a rusty entrenching shovel – that I had picked up from a corpse a few miles back. So I started hunting them, first I trapped them. I took out their vehicles, their pilots and their Enginseers. Then I went after their leaders, first their squad leaders, and then their group leaders. At this point, the enemy commander started panicking, and he just started throwing his forces at me. I had to fight through the entire battalion. Lucky me, they didn't have any anti-armour weapons so they couldn't even scratch my armour. I finally… got to the enemy commander and in desperation he tried to fight me in hand-to-hand. Needless to say it didn't work. After I killed the Commander, I moved to secure the camp. Not a single soldier remained. I had killed the entire enemy force, with nothing but a combat knife, an empty bolter and a rusty shovel.**

**Emily Wong:**

**Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration, Captain?**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**I suppose your right, maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration…**

**Emily Wong:**

**So what happened to the people of-**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**It wasn't that rusty.**

**Emily Wong:**

**Er… I beg your pardon?**

**Captain Sigmund:**

**The Shovel… it wasn't tha~t rusty.**

* * *

**There you go, Chapter 2 – "Arrival" of **_**Upon the Wings of Eagles…**_** and on a lighter note always Google the name of whatever your about to publish, before ya publish it. I found that out the hard way when I gave them the Keywords to Google my story and they came across; **_**On the Wings of Eagles**_**, and Assassin Creed Fic instead. Since I felt that this Chapter was a little short I added a little 'Omake' thingie ma-whatzits at the end of the Codex Entry, hope you enjoy it (for reference it takes place a year after the events in my Story) and on an Editorial Note I have begun Bolding the Written/Computer Text/Audio Transmissions to make them stand out more. Anyhoo… thank you all for your Reviews, they are much appreciated, and I agree there was to much bold... I was weak, I have joined a support group, and I will no-longer binge on bolded words… that much… kinda like now. To respond to one of the better critiques, I'm sorry I didn't notice the misuse of "there" and "they're" and I will focus – grammatically – on these more in the future. To the other Trolls, which fortunately I only seem to have an infestation of one so far, if you do not like my story… then don't read it. To those of you who do enjoy my story… Thank You… and I will be posting Chapter 3 – "First Contact" on the 15 of October (15/10/2013), please review.**


	4. Chapter 3 - First Contact

**Date Published: 15/10/2013  
**

**Date Re-Edited:**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

* * *

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Chapter 3 **

**- First Contact -**

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Outskirts=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[48.23.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****48.23.00]=+**

* * *

Contact.

Search and Recover.

Horror.

The impromptu squad proceeded into the depression, ignoring the execution spikes – and the poor impaled 'civie'– that stood on their left. They advanced toward the edge of the Excavation, which was as quiet as the **grave**, through the **deathly** silence of the open Trench. The only thing that greeted them was the bare earth and **broken** boulders, **scattered** like **bleached bones** under the **pale** sunlight. Shepard moved up, Kaiden flanking her on the right and Ashley flanking her on the left. They advanced almost silently, each of them bent over their rifle. The shuffle… crunch – of their vulcanised armoured boots – the only sound in the dusty and – seemingly – deserted cavernous trench.

"No contacts," called Kaiden, breaking the tenuous **silence**.

They were **exposed**…

Out in the **open**…

However…

There were no Contacts… Enemy or otherwise… _So far so good –_

Gr-Chirp-Gurble-Chirp-Screeeeee!

Instinctively Shepard activated her Barrier… and Charged.

An orange orb – flew past her head – striking a Geth on her right.

She brought up her Rifle, and squeezed the Trigger.

She put a burst into the Geth in front of her.

She kept running, the mulched Geth forgotten.

Its shields down, its chest pulped and the light fading from its lone orb.

Still running… Still firing… her shield still flaring…

Rounds puffing up dust around her pistoning legs…

Shepard slid into Cover –

**Pock **– Bang!

– a Geth, trying to sneak up on her flank, dropped like a stone… its chest cavitated.

"Target down," informed Ashley's voice over the Comm.

"Confirmed," came Shepard's mechanical reply.

Her eyes locked down the Barrel of her Rifle, her eyes spent and eternity roving down range.

Panning left to right… right to left… seconds seemed to stretch into an **Eternity**.

Until… she but a burst from her Rifle, into a notch in the Canyon wall.

She saw a shield flare, brightly…

Heard the buzz of her rounds impacting…

She heard the glass-like sound as the shield broke…

Pock…

"Clear," called Ashley, stowing her Sniper Rifle, in favour of her Avenger Carbine.

"Moving up," informed Kaiden, drawing his Pistol and taking point.

Shepard approached the notch in the small-Canyon wall, as she got closer she noticed that it was far too regular to be natural. They stacked up around the opening; Kaiden swept the open aired chamber ahead with his Omni-tool… only to find… nothing. **No** heat, **no** life-signs, and **no** movement.

"Its clear," he informed, as he waved the squad in to check the chamber visually.

Shepard hung back – near the entrance – as she scanned the edges of the excavation above her.

_Clear, no signs of Geth, but if they weren't here then…_

She scanned the Chamber… only three artificial-looking structures stood out…

A triumvirate of very smooth looking pillars… _Alien._

An earthen ramp leading up around and behind the dig… _probably Human._

And a smooth concave circular Dias on the floor… _definitely Alien. _

That just left…

"Where's the Beacon," asked Kaiden, voicing the general opinion of the – exasperated – Squad.

With a growl Ashley responded, "the Scientists must have moved it… the Science Camp is up ahead… maybe we can find it there."

Shepard could here the stress in the Chief's voice; it seemed to be getting **worse**, and the longer they waited here the more irritable she seemed to get. But before she could move to reassure the Marine, the Comm. Sprang to life. Someone was trying to contact them over the Radio, but the channel was heavy with static.

**=*[Static]* He–*[Static]* –stance. Change of *[Static]* –ans *[Static]*=**

The rest of the message was completely garbled, Shepard looked toward Kaiden. He nodded and stared tapping away at his Omni-tool. About thirty seconds later, the message repeated, it was Nihlus…

**=Have encountered heavy resistance. Change of plans Shepard… I'm diverting to a small Tram-Station. It has a major Geth presence. We'll rendezvous there… Confirm?=**

"I read you Nihlus… Confirmed," replied Shepard into her Helmet communicator.

**=Confirmed… Nihlus out=** came the slightly eerie warble of the Turian Spectre over the Comm.

"Who's Nihlus," asked Ashley, suspicion dripping from her tone.

"Our back-up," quipped Shepard, rather glibly, "lets move."

They hadn't moved more than a foot, before Kaiden warned, "This is the perfect place for an ambush… keep your guard up."

They regrouped and formed up on Shepard, as she led them up the ramp into the Science Camp. As they rounded the corner – _**Damn**_ – smack-dab in front of them were three more 'civies' impaled on those **God-awful** devices. The place was trashed… what wasn't knocked over was on **fire**… and what wasn't on fire had been **blown apart**… and what was left… well… it seemed to be a mixture of all three. Except for the 'civies' on spikes that rest of the bodies seemed to have been burnt beyond all hope of recognition. It was a grim sight… only two of the half-dozen pre-fab structures still stood, and as they moved toward them –

One of the corpses on a Spike… _**twitched**_. Shepard – with a distinct sense of horror – noticed that its skin had turned blue. The Spike started to descend. Its skin and clothes hung in tatters around it twisted frame. It reached the bottom and – _**Oh-my-God**_ – it stood. Its hair had fallen out, and its eyes glowed… as soulless blue. The twisted… _**Husk**_… started to shamble forward… slowly. The other two descended – on their Spikes – like a pair of wingless **desiccated** angels, joining the first. Then… it noticed them…

Time seemed to stand still…

It then opened its mouth…

And let loose a shriek…

A terrifying soulless…

Gut-retching, mind…

Numbing, shriek…

And then it…

**Charged…**

"Open fire," screamed Shepard.

They all open fire.

Full-auto, the Husks stopped.

Stumbled, and then crumpled to the ground.

After another half dozen 'double taps,' just to be sure, Shepard raised a fist. The squad ceased fire, she open her hand – palm out – and flicked it left and right. Ashley and Kaiden, with swift and deft movements, took up positions on her flanks, as they advanced toward the first pre-fab. Only to find that… it was empty.

"Ashley, the door, Kaiden the wall-safe," directed Shepard with well-practiced ease, as she moved toward some crates at the back against the wall, "prioritise Medi-gel."

Like a well oiled machine – that belied the patchwork nature of the squad – they split-up and began going about their tasks. Ashley – her head on a swivel – watched the door, Kaiden – the orange glow of his Omni-tool giving him an almost daemonic appearance – hacked the wall-safe. And Shepard… we~ell… she would be best described thus: in every Fantasy Book ever written there was Swashbuckling, Witty Banter and – finally – Looting the Corpses. Shepard was doing the latter… just no Corpse… more like a 'high-tech' treasure chest. Less than a minute later; they had broken down the smaller Mods into Omni-gel, filled up all the Slots in their Medi-gel, and flagged what they couldn't carry with Encrypted GPS Beacons (for salvage later).

_N7 Rule Number 3: you never now what you might need so take everything not nailed down. This of course led to N7 Rule Number 4: if it's nailed down it's probably a whole lot more valuable. Which – again – then led to N7 Rule Number 2: if violence is not an option, that's what your Omni-tools for. Of course I have always been a firm believer in N7 Rule Number 1: When in doubt… C4. Though I've always thought that rule a little strange – not too strange not to use it – just no-one had used explosives as weak as C4 in decades. Since the development of Eezo-based shielding the only stuff with enough 'Ommf!' to do the job was an explosive that was Eezo-based as well. But 'when in doubt… use ED-8' didn't quiet have the same ring to it…_

It was shortly after that thought that Shepard realised her Team had been waiting for her to stop day dreaming for almost a minute. Putting on the best Imperialist swagger she could muster, Shepard led her team to the final – and still standing pre-fab – marching straight to the door, until –

**Thud**

It didn't budge; there was only one thing that in Shepard's Commanders-Arsenal that would open this Door…

"Kaiden, open it."

_**Delegation! **_

Kaiden moved to the door, activated his Omni-tool, and… within a minute… the door slid open.

"Quickly, get in…and shut the door, before they come **back**," cried a small woman in a medical-bodysuit, her nerve obviously long gone.

_Oh… great, just what I need_, thought Shepard sardonically, _panicked 'civies.' Oh well we might just get some answers yet._

"The End is Nigh," cried the little balding man next to her.

"Oh Bugger," muttered Shepard miserably.

* * *

**+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

**+=Unidentified World=+**

**+=Unidentified City=+**

**+=Outer Suburbs=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: +****56.25.00]=+**

* * *

Tedium.

Contact.

Repeat.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Hurdle boulders and serpentine the trees.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Until… he exited the forest, and slid into cover behind a pre-fab structure. He peaked his Bolter (with its handy M40 Targeting System) round the corner, the display in his helm identified at least a half dozen floating 'drones' above the street – in front of him – heading into the city centre. He gently pulled the Rifle back into cover – in his long service he had seen many such recon-drones (both Mechanical and Biological) – and they didn't react well to sudden movements. While in cover he tried for a third time to reboot his on-board telemetry package. All he got was the same messages over and over; the armours time pieces kept giving the same error messages, and any and all data-nets within range were down because all he got was "**+=[Connection Failure: Data Corruption]=+**". He was no Tech-Marine, but that probably meant someone was actively Jamming Vox-communications and most – if not all – Data-links, and the black pall of smoke hanging over the City led him to believe… well… he didn't know what to believe.

The city matched no-known Architectural Style he'd come across, and the Librarium on Macragge had a record of nearly ever world encountered – to date – by nearly every Legion with the Crusade. A record spanning nearly two Centuries, and if that wasn't enough it had also contain Information and raw Data from nearly every world within the Ultima Segmentum. He had no intelligence, no rock-crete data and no-known point of reference… **this would be fun!**

_Okay the basics then: _

_Scans show that the world is rich in Agriculture._

_High in Nitrogen, with the correct levels of Oxygen._

_Minimal levels of pollutants._

_Ultra-violet light levels higher than Terran-Standard norm._

_Everything is well within habitable tolerances. _

_I need more data._

He activated his range-finder and tagged the hill he had arrived-on a few minutes earlier.

**+=[Range: 9 134 meters]=+**

Satisfied, he tagged the hill as [Planet-Fall] within his Locator, resetting the telemetry-suite. With a sigh, he began a quick diagnostic, always keeping at least one eye on his Auspex just in case those Drones got to close. According to his latest telemetry; the planets gravity was **+=[1.04 of Standard-Terran Norm]=+**, and the Atmospheric pressure at his current altitude was **+=[1.45 of Standard-Terran Norm]=+**. After reviewing the new Data he decided upon a course of action. With a flick of his eyes, he set a Waypoint at ten kilometres from his current position along the line of travel from Planet-Fall towards his best 'guesstimate' of the last known position of that Psychic-Beacon. Unfortunately his Locator still failed to produce a Map of the surrounding area, and his built-in Vox-Caster couldn't identify any Imperial Channels or commonly used Vox-frequencies. However his Auspex was able to provide him with a limited form of Terrain Mapping, allowing him to piece together a rough three-dimensional map… however that only applied to what was in line of sight.

_Ah well… nothing worth doing is ever easy_, thought Sigmund sardonically.

He aimed his Bolter back round the corner, trying to get a more accurate count of the – so far – non-hostile contacts. His inner calculations taking mere micro-seconds, he had the perfect line-of-sight towards the swarm, and in another fifteen seconds he'd have a –

A Drone **twitched**.

The Swarm **shifted**.

He ducked back into Cover.

He prepared for Hard Contact.

He could here their Anti-Grav system droning.

Growing… **louder and louder**… **closer and closer**.  
Five seconds until contact… Four seconds… **Three**… **Two**… **One…**

Nothing… they flew over harmlessly, a few seconds later they were gone. A cloud of white oval shaped drones flying off over the forest, perpendicular to the trail he'd blazed through the foliage from Planet-Fall. With barely a backwards glance he swept round into the street, and charged down the road at a break-neck pace. If there had been anybody in the street to observe they would have said his speed was unnatural, and anyone with any Military-Training would have admonished him for his apparent lack of Situational-Awareness, however…

They would be wrong…

**No-one** could see inside his Helm…

**No-one** could see inside his Mind…

And **No-one** could foresee his Actions…

Sigmund **trusted** his War-Gear, if it said there were no Contacts… then there were** no Contacts**.

Sigmund **trusted** his Equipment to lead him to his Objective… that was all there was to it.

Sigmund **knew** what his Tech could do; it could scan almost every Spectrum known to Man… and quite a few that weren't.

Time was of the essence… he did not know whether or not his objective was time-sensitive, which meant he did not know how much time he had left to complete them. Therefore he had to hurry…

And so once again he descended into the mind-numbing tedium, that only another super-human match…

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

Left foot. Right Foot.

He advanced quickly toward the City Centre… encountering neither the corpses of the **Defenders nor Attackers**. This concerned the Space Marine; he slowed his speed, and began to check each corner… manually. It was at the third intersection that he came across the first signs of Life… or more precisely the first signs of **Death**. Ahead of him was an over-turn six-wheeled vehicle, possibly a troop transport, it was rather hard to tell what with it upside-down and burnt-out in a crater. There were at least a half-dozen burnt corpses scattered in and around the dead vehicle, which was hard to tell if it was armoured or not in its current (inverted) state. According to the Bio-Spoor Sensor within his Auspex, there was at least a 23% probability that the corpses were once human. He took cover behind the burnt-out vehicle, and began examining the artefacts littered about the wreckage.

***Beep* **

**+=[Warning: Spatial Anomaly Detected]=+**

His HUD high-lighted as series of pods, oval in shape, and of unknown function. According to his Auspex the device was emitting some sort of Gravitational Field. He picked up the pod and examined it, feeling its weight in his hand…

_Hmmm… to heavy to be a thrown incendiary, for those who are un-augmented… to well-machined to be an IED… it appears to be some sort of ranged-weapon… but what?_

He traced a gauntleted finger over the casing, his eye examining the finish, until… he was drawn toward a row of three – identical – red buttons. Above each button was a small picture… obviously describing its function, and after a brief examination he pressed the first red button. The pod unfolded into a – vaguely – rifle-shaped object. He quickly analysed the weapon, and its probative value…

_**Theoretical:**_

_Low Gothic Script (M-7), indicative of Human manufacture._

_Shape and Design, indicative of Humanoid users._

_Trigger-guard to small for augmented personnel._

_No apparent, clip or magazine._

_**Practical:**_

_Unsuitable for Space Marine combat deployment._

_Unknown design and manufacture, retain for analyses by Techmarine_.

His choice made; he collapsed the weapon, and mag-locked it to his thigh-plate, next to his spare Bolter-Barrels. He left cover, and began advancing down the street once more. He noticed that there were a lot more burnt corpses in the street, as well as several – two-man – shuttle-like transports along the sides of the road. But before he could examine them further, he heard a scream. Instinctively he reached out with his mind to –

**Pain**. Mind **numbing**. All **encompassing**. Never-ending.

His mental injuries, flared and real-space asserted itself, within the confines of his mind. Not missing a beat he remained calm, while rapidly moving toward the source of the scream. He spun round, into a courtyard between three buildings.

His hearts sped-up, he felt the rush of adrenalin – and other combat chemicals – surged through his system, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. He began to analyse the situation…

_**Theoretical:**_

_Xenos are executing/sacrificing civilians, in a ritualistic manner._

_There are eight hostiles, three contacts on top of the buildings, three contacts guarding the prisoners, and two contacts in the process of dragging away a victim._

_**Practical:**_

_**First.**__ Neutralise over-watch units, at range with Bolter._

_**Second.**__ Engage armed-units guarding prisoners, in CQB with Power Sword._

_**Third.**__ Eliminate the remaining units, with horizontal slash in CQB._

_**Execute**__._

* * *

Private Nirali Bhatia of the 2nd Frontier Division, was having a _**really**_ bad day. The day had started very early with hour upon hour of maintenance of equipment in the Cafeteria, where she had been when the Air-Raid siren had started blaring. She – and the rest of her Squad – had raced to the muster yard, but before they could be issued a Rifle, the Barracks had been hit. There was an explosion that had knocked her down, with darkness following shortly after. When she came to, she was already a prisoner, and she couldn't find anyone from her Squad. There were some Alliance personnel in her group, but most of her group was made up of frightened 'civies.' Strangely the Aliens – _Geth I think_ – hadn't taken away her Omni-tool or her Head-set, so she tried to contact Command.

**Nothing**… **No** signal… **No** extra-net access… they were probably blocking their Comms so all that left was… she didn't know, but the least she could do was record what was happening and pass it on to Alliance Intelligence when she got the chance.

That was until… they executed Corporal Jones… it was horrible… she couldn't look away… and she completely forgot, about her Omni-tool and the recording… she even forgot about her Head-set. And then they grabbed another prisoner, and her heart-sank, until…

She heard it…

A series of metallic thuds and some high-pitch whistling.

And then the Geth on the roof started exploding.

Before anyone could re-act a giant blue blur **Charged** the Geth.

It drew a long sliver… thing… from its back, and cut the Geth guarding them in half.

With a single swing, with whatever that was… _was it glowing blue?_

He took another step toward the last Geth guarding them, and thrust his sword right through it. Not missing a beat… he turned… took a single step, and swung his sword up… and around his head and cleaved their shoulders and flash-light heads clean off the tops of the Geth Platforms.

They dropped the poor 'civie' they were dragging, as their metallic carcases slumped to the ground.

The giant seemed to pause… his sword stopped glowing… at which point Nirali realised that – _He Had a Freaking __**SWORD**_ – that was a real eye-opener at which point she begin to really 'check-out' their rescuer.

He then spun the sword round – one-handed – and drove the tip and the first two feet of that massive blade into the ground, **through a Geth carcase!**

He took his right-hand off the hilt, and offered a helping hand to the man on the ground. He picked him up – **bodily** – his feet dangling of the ground slightly, and put him back down on his feet. It was only once the giant stopped moving, that Private Bhatia finally realised how big he really was. The stunned 'civie' he just saved stared up at him in awe… he was barely half as tall as the giant. He stood more than nine feet tall and almost four feet wide. His hard-suit – or maybe it was an exo-suit – was made of overlapping plates, with each plate intricately etched with swirling wreaths of Ivy. And as she looked closer, Bhatia could see that each swirl was made up of innumerable lines of tiny Norse-like runes. Line upon Line… Swirl upon Swirl… drawing you in… it hurt her eyes to look at it. After an eternity – mere moments upon the recording – he turned to face the captives, and she caught sight of his right shoulder plate. Across that ivory plain was a very angular Jerusalem Cross (sans the innumerable smaller ones), transposed by a menacing golden skull, along the bottom rim was a series of Roman-Numerals. She barely caught-sight of his other pauldron, which – though obscured – bore a white horse-shoe, the tips of which were clutched in the Talons of a Golden Double-Headed – Imperial – Eagle.

However… despite him just saving them, he truly frightened her. The crux of her fear… his bone-white death mask of a helmet. From its scowling – inverted – U-shaped grill for a mouth, to its bloody-crimson eyes… the glow of which seemed to bore into you. The aura of disapproval was only reinforced by the scowling golden ridge, above the glaring lenses. And yet… this… image seemed to clash, with the navy-blue laurel that was etched… no rested… upon the helmets temples, with a white, ivory-like, inlay… like veins running round… tumbling round, his head. However it was the small – almost ornate – golden skull that seemed to draw her eyes inward. Until Private Bhatia was dragged from her day-dreaming, when the silent Alliance-blue monolith spoke…

* * *

"May I speak to the highest ranking officer amongst you," asked Sigmund, the synthetic rasp of his vocaliser seemed to startle a few of the men and women within the crowd.

They stood there staring at him, and glancing at each other in confusion. Sigmund had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, there was a possibility that…

_Oh great_, thought Sigmund morosely, _no-one on this beatific little back-water speaks Gothic_.

He opened his mouth to try another dialect that he was familiar with… until a small tan-skinned woman with a head-set stepped out from the crowd. With a sense of trepidation she pointed toward the only human corpse that the Geth had managed to impale, before his intervention.

"Corporal Jones was the only NCO in our group, and we have lost contact with Command," she informed him softly, if not with a hint of uncertainty, "However… out of all the Marines here… I probably have Seniority."

He raised an eyebrow – unseen – at this self-proclaimed 'Marine' and then asked her with authority, "What's your name, Soldier?"

"Private Bhatia of the 2nd Frontier Division, Sir," declared the diminutive woman (compared to him anyway); with a sense of pride he'd rarely seen.

_Good… the people of this world have some backbone at least_, thought Sigmund.

Turning back to the matter at hand, he asked Private Bhatia, "Can you lead, what soldiers remain, to evacuate all civilians you can gather into the country-side?"

"The Geth took most of our equipment, without our Weapons or Omni-tools…" she shrugged, "we could lead them towards the forest… the local wildlife should mask out heat signatures… but without guns or our Comms… we'd be sitting ducks… as well as helpless and blind. They'd be waiting for us… then they'd pick us off at their leisure."

Sigmund reached down to his leg and unlocked the collapsed Rifle from his thigh plate, and casually handed it to Private Bhatia.

"Here take this."

She unfolded the Rifle with practiced ease, sighted down the barrel and put a round into a nearby Geth Corpse.

He inclined his head toward the Marine, impressed with her rapid acclimation to the weapon; he then turned and pointed down the street, toward the burnt-out transport he passed earlier.

"There's more Rifles within that Transport… head down the street and into the forest… the way is clear," he informed her calmly, as he knelt down to examine one of the Xeno corpses – _**these Geth**_ – that the Private spoke about. It appeared to be some sort of Xeno Cyborg, however he couldn't locate its brain-cavity. He was busy examining the corpse further… when he heard someone cough behind him. He turned to find that Private Bhatia hadn't moved, in fact she had gotten closer to him.

"Respectfully, Sir, what about you," asked Private Bhatia, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"I have critical objective that I need to complete," he replied succinctly, his tone devoid of all emotion, even before his synthesizer could obliterate it.

"What could Command possibly require here," queried Bhatia further, "this is an Agricultural Colony… there's little here of **any** strategic value."

The tactical part of Sigmund's mind decided that perhaps releasing a little information may further his objectives, he informed the soldier before him that, "I am supposed to locate some sort of Beacon…"

A frown creased Bhatia's face at the mention of the 'Beacon', her mood darkened considerably as she replied, "you must be talking about the Prothean Beacon. I heard that they were moving it up to the Space Port."

_Ah… ask and yea shall receive…_

"How do I get to the Space Port from our… current location," asked Sergeant Sigmund, a modicum of eagerness seeping into his tone.

"With all due respect, **Sir**… screw the Beacon," declared Bhatia venomously, "there are civies that need to be evacuated… we need every Rifle we can get… can't you divert the rest of your squad to secure the Artefact?"

Sigmund withdrew his mind from the confines of real-space… he open his mind… extending his Witch-Sight… outward, searching… Only to encounter… **emptiness**… _**and Pain**_… half remembered and almost forgotten. He couldn't sense his squad, and to reach further would only pained him more.

"The rest of my Squad is not deployed… within this System," replied Sigmund evenly, his tone unwavering… his Helm masking his pain.

Incredulous Bhatia asked, "Your just one man, what – ?"

Gr-chirp-chirp-gurgle…

Around the corner of a building came a Squad of half a dozen Geth… led by two large red ones.

Sigmund raised his Bolter, and calmly put two rounds through the lead Geth.

The Mass-Reactive rounds blasted them apart like metallic confetti.

The resulting shrapnel, downed the rest, their bodies crumpled.

Stunned, Private Bhatia raised a shaky hand, and pointed further up the main road, and with calmness she probably didn't feel stated, "if you head further up the road you will eventually reach the Space Port…"

Before Private Bhatia had even finished giving the instructions, Sigmund had sheathed his three-and-half-handed sword, and was already heading out toward the Space Port.

Breathlessly she called after him, "Wait… the Space Port is right beneath that… _**Thing**_. I'm afraid not even you could defeat that… alone."

Sigmund stopped for a moment and face the Alliance Marine, and spoke a phrase that would become synonymous with the Legion.

"I am a Space Marine… _**I Know No Fear**_."

Turning back to his quest at hand, like a Knight-Errant of old… he marched onward toward the Leviathan… his every intent to slay the Beast.

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Tram-Station=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[07.27.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****07.27.00]=+**

* * *

Struggle.

Smuggle.

Befuddle.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Burst fire on their Shields.

Snipe those bloody Drones.

And a Shotgun blast for the Stragglers.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

Advance, Fire, Manoeuvre, Retreat.

On and On.

Over and Over.

Again and Again.

For what seemed like hours, they fought from the Science-Camp to the Tram-Station. The Geth never relented… they never fell back or regrouped, and the loss of entire platoons didn't seem to deter them. And it sure as hell never stopped them throwing themselves at Shepard's Squad, like a never ending wave of suicidal electronic berserkers.

On and On.

Over and Over.

Again and Again.

Take out one, another takes its place.

Take out five, ten rise up seemingly from no-where.

Take out a Platoon, and they drop a dozen more Armatures on your head.

_Trigger discipline… _

_Tight groupings…_

_Watch your shields…_

These were the words going through Shepard's mind, as she faced down hordes of Geth. She just taken out several Drones, clearing the air when-

Shhhhzz-clunk…

Her Pistol over-heated… not batting an eye, she swiftly switched her weapons, and blasted a Geth coming round a tree. She slammed into cover behind the trunk, checking her Shotgun, getting ready to –

…**Silence…**

Leaning out of cover, surveying the mechanical devastation around her, she could see that Ashley and Kaiden were equally confused. It seemed that the Geth had run-out of Mobile Platforms, _but why…?_

_There must be a reason_, thought Shepard numbly; _they can't stop us… so why are they throwing themselves at us?_

Her Squad formed-up and march to the top of the Ridge; only to feel the ground rumbling…

They heard a soul-wrenching scream… _**thousands of pained screams**_… as the Leviathan started ascend…

Up… Up… and outwards… malevolent bloodied clouds cast asunder in its wake… as it arose, the planet falling away…

Shepard's gaze was drawn from the retreating monster, to the hordes of Geth that were taking up position around the Tram-Station at the base of the hill they were on. Hundreds of Husks and Geth surrounded the miniscule little transport station, hundreds upon hundreds of hostile contacts… that they'd been slaughtering all morning.

_There has got to be a logical reason for –_

And then it hit her tired mind, had she more energy Shepard would have complain about the whiplash she got from that epiphany…

_They were buying time_; thought Shepard's lagging mental faculties, _for the units further behind them… probably at the Space-Port. __**But for what purpose? **__It doesn't matter, the faster we get to the Beacon, the higher the chance we will negate their delaying action. Hah! Eat your heart out Sun Tzu, even half dead on my feet – not to mention severely decaffeinated – I can still out think a bunch of insane supercomputers…_

At which point the Universe, sensing a challenge from the defiant little redhead, decided to drop two Squads of Geth and a horde of Husks on her head for her shear audacity. Needless to say; Shepard and her worn-out Team, neither appreciated the sentiment nor the 'gift' that they'd just received from the Universe. The great universal joke – as it were – was on them… and it just goes to show that sometimes all a good joke really needs is a little… _**perspective.**_

It was at this point – while the slightly petulant higher power got bored, and decided to go mess with evolution for a bit – that Shepard decided that she had enough. More specifically she had had enough of the Geth dictating their engagements…

_**My turn…**_

She swung out of cover, bringing her Rifle up…

Not aiming and not caring if she really hit anything…

That wasn't the point, she let rip with a burst of full-auto…

The nearest Geth doing a pretty good impersonation of a Colander…

She charged the Geth, forcing the alien automatons back several Steps…

Dark energy crackled about her, the air consumed with flashes of blue light…

She charged towards them, energy arching off her form, and when she got close…

**Thwack!**

The closest Geth went down, its flashlight head cracked and flickering. With a flick of her wrist, she flicked a spinning disc towards the recently expired Geths friends. Once the little surprise was delivered, she strode – in perhaps the most relaxed of manner – into cover. Ducking down behind a rock, suppressive fire rained down on her position until –

**BOOOM!**

– The half dozen Geth behind her ceased to exist.

_Thank you ED-8 thermo-plastic explosives, and for my next trick…_

"Kaiden, Overload," she cried over her shoulder.

Kaiden – who was behind the Commander – activated his Omni-Tool, quickly flash-forging a glowing orange sphere in his hand. He drew his arm back, and thrust it forward, sending the glowing-sphere towards a group of Geth. With precision, barely a second after Kaiden, Shepard launched a Biotic punch at the spasming automatons. Before they even hit the ground; she flicked a now familiar silver disk at the downed machines, and screamed…

"**Fire in the Hole!"**

The Geth with a grenade mag-locked to its chest looked down almost comically as –

**Fwump! **

– he and several other platforms were pulped by the blast pressure. For all intents a purposes they ceased to exist… while any husks within twenty feet were flung about like rag-dolls.

_Note to self: Biotics and Eezo-Based explosives do not, I repeat __**do not**__, mix… on a lighter note –_

"That was awesome," screamed Chief Williams with almost child-like enthusiasm, from somewhere behind her.

Nodding sagely, Shepard got out from behind a boulder and proceeded to check that they were all dead, in a manner befitting of most Zombie movies… by shooting each and everyone of them a couple more times _**just**_ to be sure.

A few minutes – and a couple hundred 'rounds' – later; Shepard lead her team up the hill and onto the Crest to see –

A pack of Husks charging right at them.

Needing space Shepard lashed out with her Biotics.

She was taught never to retreat, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

_**Never allow your enemy to dictate the Battle…**_

Shepard charged the charging Husks…

And for a moment they seemed to pause…

Until –

**Thrummm!**

Everything… from Geth to Husks to the rocks on the ground…

Like a shotgun blast, everything blew outward in an expanding cone of Force…

Husks were littered about the field, and Shepard simply marched on, crushing them beneath her boots…

_**You must dictate the flow of the Battle…**_

Occasionally a Husk would topple behind her… sniped…

But she simply ignored them, and kept moving… kept killing…

She dealt death to the deathless… her rifle could be likened unto a Scythe…

With a sweep of her weapon… the twisted dead would topple like freshly shorn wheat…

But… she was not focused upon those in front of her.

She shot a Husk, lazily through the eye.

_Where are they?_

She bashed another, caving its skull.

_Where could –_

_There they are…_

She spotted the Geth Handlers, the mechanical masterminds guiding the mindless horde. Without them the Husks would be leaderless… easy pickings.

Seeing them… she charged…

Dark energy rippling of her form…

Her gun blazing away, taking out one…

Then two, until… it over-heated, jamming…

Not missing a beat, she brained the nearest flash-light head with the butt of her rifle.

Afterwards it didn't matter… her rifle forgotten; she lashed out, her Biotics flaring.

Left and Right; she'd tear one apart – and in turn – crush another with the pieces.

On and on.

Her Blood pumping…

Over and over.

The thrill of the fight…

Again and again.

_**The savage thrill that came with Destruction.**_

The supporting fire had ceased quite awhile ago…

Not that Shepard had noticed, as she put her fist through another platform.

She grabbed one by the back of its neck, slamming a glowing knee into its chest.

Casting it aside, she panned her gaze looking for the final Handler.

She turned to find a rifle levelled at her head. Any sane person would have raised their own weapons… and taken the shot. Shepard raised her rifle… but she wasn't necessarily sane… and tossed it. End over end it spun towards the Geth, until –

**Crack!**

It struck the machine knocking it to the ground, but before it could get up –

**Crunch!**

Shepard slammed a fist into its chest –

**Crunch!**

A second following the first –

**Crunch!**

She continued to crush it –

**Crunch!**

Blow after blow –

**Crunch!**

Until… Silence… the dust settled, and Shepard looked up. Not a single Geth remained, and the Husks lay about lifeless. Getting back to her feet, snatching up her battered rifle on the way, she turned round to find –

Two shell-shocked Marines.

A bushel of slack-jawed Farmers.

A dozen Geth in various stages of dismemberment.

And over fifty twisted Husks, lying prone at her feet.

It was sometime around this point that she realised that most – if not all – the Husks had been ripped limb from limb… by hand.

_Whoa… haven't let go like that in a __**loooong**__ time_, thought Shepard cheerily, seemingly oblivious to the carnage around her.

She turned to look over her shoulder at the Tram-Station, seeing that it seemed to be clear of enemies she marched cheerfully over to it.

Almost wistfully she called back over her shoulder to her Squad saying, "Come on team, the Beacons not goin' to secure itself."

* * *

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams by default respected her Commanders; she was polite and differential to her Superior Officers and without preamble saluted anyone who out ranked her… and since she was a Williams that meant just about everyone. And up until about a minute ago she did it, _because… well… uhm, that was how she was raised, __**damn it!**_ That was – of coarse – until she saw her latest Commander in action…

She had been picking off the Drones strafing their position, which she'd been keeping off their backs since the beginning of the fight. She blew away the last wave of drones, when she heard something that made her **blood run cold…**

Kaiden had stopped firing; she spun around to find him slack-jawed with his Shotgun dangling from limp fingered hands. She ran up to cover him, cresting the hill, preparing to drag him into cover when –

She looked over and saw the Commander.

She was need deep in Husks and advancing calmly.

She was blasting away any Husk that got in her way.

She was advancing – nonchalantly – down the hill toward the Tram-Station.

She seemed oblivious to the suppressive fire raining down around her.

And by God… She was single-handedly kicking their collective shinny-metal-asses!

She was single-handedly driving them back, forcing them back into the Tram-Station.

And then something changed, she charged her form wreathed in swirling dark energy. Her Biotics blasting Husks apart, bits and pieces of the cybernetic undead being flung around like confetti on the wind. A sphere of energy surrounded Shepard as she sprinted through the horde, until –

**Thrummm… Wham!**

Bits and pieces of both Husks and Geth rained down across the field when her Biotic Barrier exploded. Her Rifle kept roaring – never stopping for a second – tearing apart anything that got in her way. Any enemy that got in her way, she Biotic-Slapped them out her way… and if they didn't, she crushed them with a glowing armoured boot. She kept shredding anything in her path until –

Click-Sssssshhh…

Her gun jammed, at which point… well… she got a **little** bit _**more**_ unorthodox…

Not missing a beat… she flipped her Rifle round and smashed the Butt into the face of the nearest Bot.

From then on it was an all out Biotic-Brawl.

She'd rip one Bot limb from limb, and give another a beat-down with the pieces.

She just kept wailing on the poor Bastards, and Ashley actually started feeling sorry for them.

Until –

"Come on team, the Beacons not goin' to secure itself."

It was at this point that Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams decided that an extra ration of ass-kissing – in this specific situation – might not be a bad idea – _**seriously**_. She elbowed Kaiden in the ribs, breaking him out of his nearly catatonic stunned stupor, and raced down the hill following the commander. She didn't even notice the stunned farmers standing behind her, as she raced to keep up with her – very scary – Commanding Officer. She sure as hell wanted to remain on her Commanding Officers **slightly less scary** good-side… and as far away as possible from her **truly terrifyingly psychotic** Bad-Side.

* * *

Shepard led the way toward the Tram-Station – with two slightly shell-shocked Marines trailing in her wake – and directed her Squad to form a Tactical-Stack at the base of the ramp.

She mentally chuckled at the looks on their faces, after she let her hair down – metaphorically of course – _ahh… Classic_.

Maybe she was a tad bit desensitized by all the violence, but what could she do… that was how she was trained…

_Find the Objective, and Complete it._

_Isolate and Eliminate any and all obstructions._

_And go wherever you have to, to do it._

That's what N-School taught her; at least that's what the Alliance Grunts called…_**eh-hem**_, 'Interplanetary Combative Training' bloody hell… they make it sound-like something that would require you to adjourn for Tea and crumpets, afterwards. To the graduates… it was called the 'Villa'; to those who failed… it was called Hell. To Shepard… it meant **rebirth**, she went in a **shattered** and **broken**, and came out an N7. She went in a nervous wreck, that jumped at her own shadow, when she came out… **now **that was a whole different ball-game.

Everyone who went to the Villa came out with something different… some people came out bigger and meaner – some people just came out scarier. _**The rest?**_ You couldn't tell what they got out of it. They came out of N7-School looking like accountants and marketing executives, but that didn't mean they didn't come out… **different**. You could see it… if you'd been through the same thing. You could see it in their posture, **relaxed** like a coiled spring. You could see it in the looks they gave you, **casual** and **calculating**. It was the way they dissected you with their eyes, taking you apart piece by piece, and if you lived to tell the tale of meeting a N7-Graduate, then… they probably thought you weren't worth the effort of killing.

Now what did Shepard get outta the deal? What she got was; **Reflexes** and **Situational Awareness**, that were honed to such a degree that it was almost instinctual, this allowed her mind – in the heat of battle – to plot and plan while her body dealt with the immediate threats to her person almost subconsciously. Now back to the matter at hand…

"In position," called Kaiden, from the back of the Stack.

Shepard nodded, and led the Squad round the corner and onto the platform. The squad spread out and checked the platform.

"I got something over here," informed Ashley, indicating the Geth corpse on the other end of the platform.

From her place checking some crates, Shepard responded, "Kaiden see what –"

The words died in her throat, "Damn… it's Nihlus."

"Whose Nihlus?" asked Ashley as she approached the corpse.

"Our backup," replied Kaiden, a hint of anger seeping into his tone, "he was shot in the back."

Kaiden crouched down to check for the Turians vitals, while Ashley and Shepard moved to check the area. Finding nothing they stowed their Weapons as they waited for Kaiden scans to –

_**Click**_

In the blink of an eye, everyone brought up their side-arms, aiming them down at some crates near the end of the platform.

"Come-on out with your hands where we can see them," instructed Ashley, her voice slightly raised but easily carrying across the platform.

"D-don't shoot," came a rather reedy sounding voice, "I'm unarmed."

From behind a crate against a retaining wall, came a greasy looking dockworker with a grey knitted-cap.

"Who are you?" asked Ashley.

"Names-s Pow-ell… I work here," replied the man with his hands raised, he backed up a bit seemingly stumbling over his words and not – say – his feet.

Shepard advanced toward him, while gesturing to the corpse and not mincing her words in the slightest, "did you kill him?"

"No-o no, it was the other Turian," twittered the greasy little dockworker.

"What 'other' Turian?" asked Kaiden suspiciously.

"I don't know… I swear; they talked, your guy there turned his back, and his buddy shot him," replied Powell in a panicked rush.

"What do you mean 'buddy'," asked Shepard her temper rising, as it always did when dealing with shady looking 'civies'.

"They knew each other… your buddy Nitrus – "

"Nihlus!"

"Whatever… he called other guy er – I can't remember… something," Shepard pointed her sidearm at his skull, "Saren! He called the other guy Saren!"

"What now Commander… I've heard about this guy. Apparently he's dirty," asked Ashley, raising the topic of their greasy little civie problem.

"He's not our problem," she replied turning away from them.

Ignoring the pathetic dockworker, Shepard tried to raise the Normandy on her Helmet Comms, and… nothing.

"Damn, the signals being jammed," she turned back to the weasely little dockworker and asked, "Where's the Beacon."

"They mov-ved it to the S-space P-p-port, right bef-fore the at-t'ck," replied Powell in a rush, tripping over his words in his headlong rush to get this conversation over and done with as quickly as possible.

_Just great_, thought Shepard morosely, "okay let's move up and secure the Tram, team."

They moved to engage, the Geth holding the arrival platform and the controls…

* * *

**+=Arcturus Station=+**

**+=Alliance Intelligence Agency Headquarters (AIA)=+**

**+=Intelligence Analysis Division=+**

**+=Traverse Sub-Desk=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[07.27.22]=+**

**+=[mark: +****07.27.12]=+**

* * *

Cecilia Grant was having a **very long day**, and it seemed to be getting longer and longer by the minute. She'd arrived this morning to her very quiet (read as very boring) desk in the Analysis Division. She's a surveillance analyst and electronic maintenance technician, which in lay-mans-terms meant that she organised the security VI's and watched endless streams of surveillance footage. Hours upon hours of them, and do you know what the worst part was? Nothing really happened on the planets she was watching, but that didn't mean she could stop… now did it? No she had to watch **all of it**, and then archive it… after all that she had to write a lengthy report about it… **that no-one would ever read.**

That was… until about twelve hours ago, when every cam and sensor feed – **Planeside** – had been cut, leaving her completely in the dark about the events on the Agri-Colony of Eden Prime. Then after thirty minutes of panic (within and without the Intel Division), her station and the servers connected to it almost crashed as they got a major backlog of data, when the data-lines came back online.

**Someone had attacked Eden Prime.**

That got her bosses attention, and they decided to – **finally** – put some more people on the Eden Prime desk. Sadly all that really meant was some more Analysts, and a bunch of winey Military Officers. No-one who actually did any real work, since they spent most of their time complaining that they didn't have enough data, and that their only surveillance Tech. – **her** – was (and I quote) 'Lazy'. So here she was – doing all the work – and going through all the endless hours of – **usually corrupted** – surveillance tapes, looking for – and I quote – 'a Giant Blue Alien Robot'.

_Okay that was 'specific'_, she thought sardonically,_ perhaps I should send them all some links to a couple hundred hours of Japanese Anime that, that could describe!_

So for the last ten hours, which in lay-mans-terms translates to about fourteen cups of coffee and a bathroom break, she had been going over hundreds of VI-cam feeds. An so far, besides a real need for therapy after what she saw, she got nothing –

_Bingo!_

She brought a small bit of footage from a Cam near the City Centre, and got… a single three-frame blur.

Not much, but I've worked with less…

She opened up her image recognition software on her Holographic Terminal; entered the Clip in to its digital chamber and fired off the search across the rest of the Surveillance Servers. And a minute later she got some results from the search of the servers…

* * *

_A large blue shape charged toward some unaware Geth, flame bloomed around the muzzle of his Silver and Gold Cannon, and the Geth… they just exploded in a puff of smoke. The clip ended with the shape charging through the smoke and the flame and off screen…_

* * *

_Okay, four seconds, that was better than the last Vid maybe –_

Her terminal pinged, and another Vid popped-up and began playing…

* * *

_A dozen Geth are firing at something off screen, and then –_

_The three Geth in the centre of the formation… exploded._

_The rest of the Geth are knocked down…_

_A blue blur speeds past the camera and out of the frame…_

* * *

_Okay that one was twelve seconds, but still that should be –_

* * *

_Again the same blue figure charged through – and over – a group of Geth –_

_**Crunch**_

_Never stopping toward an Armature, in a smooth almost fluid gesture, the blue robot took a silver-grey cylinder from his belt, and lobbed it toward the giant walking tank. As he speeds past the machine – there's a flash – and the screen cut-out…_

* * *

… _It?_

Over the next two minutes she got at least another two dozen Vids of this… _**thing**_. And she could tell it was the same… Robot (?), according to her image recognition App. it has at least a ninety-six percent match to all the earlier images.

If the earlier footage – of the terrible things the Geth were doing on Eden Prime – required therapy, then this… this would need medical leave or a discharge at least. The blue machine – because that was all it could be – was methodical, every movement precise, not an ounce of wasted energy… brutal. In every Vid… its every move… led to the destruction of dozens of Geth… or those bluish-grey… _**creatures**_ that followed them around. The Vid's were a litany of brutality; unadulterated violence, every Geth in them was either smashed aside, blasted apart, crushed under-foot, or ripped limb from mechanical limb. After a half hour of psychological trauma, Ms. Grant had, had enough…

Turning away from her terminal, she couldn't help but wonder… if there was a pattern to the Intel-Cam Footage. Pulling up a map of the locations of the Intel-Cams, she began to plot an overlay of the Cams that gave her footage of the giant, and what she saw was…

**They led strait to the Space Port.**

It was at this point that Cecilia Grant decided that this discovery was far, to far beyond her pay-grade, thus the decision was made for her… she decided to pass the buck up a few levels.

"Um… Ma'am, you gotta see this…"

* * *

**+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant=+**

**+=Central Business District=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: +****32.31.00]=+**

* * *

**Crack!**

Another broken Geth shell sailed through the air, only to land in a heap on the burnt ground disturbing the fine layer of glassed sand that seemed to permeate the very air. But before the glassed dust could settle, a large cobalt-blue stomped the rogue AI's torso into pale cybernetic paste. Grinding the sole of his armoured-boot into the dirt, Sigmund turned his gaze upon the scene of apocalyptic-landscape that surrounded him. The field that surrounding them was one big carbon-smear, it was filled with burnt out vehicles and the rumble the majority of which had once been part of a thriving district, less than an hour before. After a moment's introspection, Sigmund turned his attention from the devastation that surrounded him… to focus solely on the cause…

After several intense scans by his Auspex, some mental analysis of the results and multiple theoreticals of all the major possibilities, he could come to only one conclusion; the invading Xeno's were some kind of Soulless Machines of a – so-far – unknown origin. His analysis of their tactical and squad-deployment patterns, suggested some sort of either Hive – or Swarm – Intelligence. The greater their numbers; the more advanced and abstract their tactics became. They also seemed to have some sort of tactical data-net, through which their Commanders would – it appeared – attempt to co-ordinate their actions against him. Most of which were attempts to take him out at range, which would have negated his close-combat advantage, allowing them to bring their superior numbers to bear.

And then something happened… he didn't have the data to determine what exactly, but they appeared to no-longer care how many of their number they lost… they just kept throwing themselves at him. They were simply trying to swamp him with numbers, or so it seemed, which confused the Veteran Sergeant. Either they had simply given up and were in the process of a suicide-charge… or they were trying to delay him. The success of their latest tactic was laughable, in fact their current tactic allowed him to close into CQB far easier than before. He hoped they never learned that little to nothing could stop a charging Space Marine. He continued his onward trek… he could see the Structure of the Space-Port up ahead of him in the distance… just a few hundred meters and –

**Pain… pure unadulterated… being channelled straight through his helmet.**

Through the pain he realised what he was experiencing. He was struck by a sudden psychic pulse, which caused him to stumble and fall to one knee. The pulse had spiked through his already tormented mind, further aggravating his previous psychic injuries, and driving any rational thought that remained… right out of his skull. Eventually… gradually… the pain ebbed… like treacle… until, a semblance of normalcy returned. And just as his began to regain his sense –

_**SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**_

The heavens filled with a god-awful scream, his nerves already battered and blue, were torn red and bloody, by the screams of the damned. Their mournful wails seemed tinny and… **fake**, a synthetic facsimile. He turned his gaze heavenward as the chaos-black leviathan, wreathed in scarlet crackling lightning arching round its… twisted form. He watched it for several moments more, until the daemon of a ship lifted out of the Atmosphere.

Turning back toward the Space Port, at the very edge of his – now – limited Witch-Sight, and what was once a raging torrent… had died down to little more than a trickle.

_Perhaps that's the Beacon_, he realised mentally, _some kind of xeno-tech… probably… they seem to have replicated the abilities of an Astropath… artificially_.

Rising up to his considerable full height, Sergeant Sigmund, continued his inexorable charge toward… dum-dum-dahh!... his Destiny…

**(Okay, maybe that was way too corny, so to be more specific, he… "continued his inexorable charge toward…" the Space Port.)**

* * *

Upon a small hill, a little ways away from where Sigmund's journey had begun, sat an old and bent figure that was invisible… to most. His sight capable of seeing more than most, his gaze locked upon the Heavens. And so we have come upon the ethereal form of the Sigillite, whom turned his gaze from the giant soulless construct… once it had left the solar system. Seemingly satisfied with his mournful observance, of Death personified leaving this world, he then turned back toward the blackened City. His eyes inexorably drawn from his hilltop toward where he could sense the upcoming meeting of two giants that would shake the very foundation of the Citadel of Power within this Galaxy.

He focussed his mind upon the Space-Port, and crossed the material distance with a single immaterial mental step. He arrived in time to witness the final preparations, as the soulless machines set-up rows upon rows of their inexhaustible rifles, such things he had seen those automatons use before. He saw them set and activate a series of terrible world-killers, and he hoped… _**he prayed**_… to which higher power he knew not…that the heroes that were approaching this place of prophecy would arrive in time…

* * *

**And there's Chapter 3... sorry if I didn't respond to all the reviews last time, I didn't check them until after I had posted.**

**I would like to thank Eipok, The Poarter and Ursakar; for their critiques, I honestly didn't think about the differences between 'sapient' and 'sentient'. To respond Ursakar's review(s), I felt that such a crossover could be done, and with the exception of your own Warhammer 40k / Mass Effect crossover which I thoroughly enjoy reading, the rest were however (not to be rude) poorly conceived. Yes Warhammer Tech pretty much thrashes everything in Fictional Existence (even Star Wars... probably... don't quote me on that), therefore we need to balance the Story, but simply out numbering the Stronger Force won't do... I have been contemplating writing this Story ever since the day I created my profile on Fanfiction, and what I hope to achieve is a story where the main OC protagonists can't simply muscle their way through the Story. For instance think about the concept of Collateral Damage, my handling of such a concept has been drawn from Novels such as "Know No Fear" by Dan Abnett, where one of the main non-Astartes characters is killed by the over-pressure of the Bolter rounds going off in close proximity too their position. That's not to say that a Space Marine would not kill everything when firing his Bolter, its just that he may choose not to fire instead. Also my setting should be taken into account, for those who are not aware (in contrast to the 40K Time-line) the Time before the Horus Hersey (approx. M31) was a Time of enlightenment and progress... were the Emperor openly rebuffed claims of his divinity by the Masses... as reflected in later Space Marine teachings with lines such as, "he was the greatest of us all... but he was still a man." For those of you who have read - some of - the Horus Hersey series you may have noted the references to "Prospero Burns" and "A Thousand Sons" in the Prologue and sprinkled throughout the following Chapters.**

**I plan to Re-Edit all Chapters posted over the December Holidays, at which point I can properly apply your advice to past works, in the same way I have applied it to the current ones.**

**I wish to apologize to Blinded in a Bolthole and any others I might have offended, for my attempt at Asari-Gender-Description, if not out-right confusion... for any and all offense it implied or caused. I had honestly did not think that it would cause offense, and will look to rectify it at the earliest convenience... Damn it now I sound like a bloody politician. I think that the best explanation for my own confusion came when reading Surfing into Mass Effect and Turning the Tide by BlackCat3978, where the main character stumbles over Asari biology to try and explain (sort of) that she isn't - well - Gay (see Chap 38, 39 or 40... I think). I sympathized with this character simply because I stumbled over my own attempt at defining Asari Biology.**

**Oh and please don't take any of these responses as Arrogance, I am well aware of my own limitations... for instance I would never Write a Halo or Deus Ex crossover because there are already such great Stories (by DinoJake and IgnusDei respectively) that are far better than I could possibly hope to write or even conceive. My hope is to fill a writing niche were there is little to no crossovers or Characters (like funny Space Marines)... **

**Finally for those of you who like to fact check, you will most likely find some discrepancies a bit later on in the following Chapters, most probably the Time-Line. In my research I found things to be a little contradictory and therefore to buy time to explain and untangle a myriad of conflicting facts I have extended the period of the Crusade by a few years. However it will still be roughly over two hundred years long, and I may or may not release my slightly AU timeline at a later date.**

**Thank You for Reading**

**Next Update will be on: 31/10/2013**


	5. Chapter 4 - Return to Armageddon

**Date Published: 31/10/2013  
**

**Date Re-Edited: N/A  
**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

* * *

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

**- Return to Armageddon -**

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Tram Station=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[32.31.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****32.31.00]=+**

* * *

Transit.

Exit.

Aww… Shit.

They travelled in silence, along the track in a cargo-tram, for what seemed like an eternity. With their raw nerves the short period of time seemed to last forever… as at least one of the team was vigilantly on the watch for drones. They otherwise kept to themselves, checking their gear… with at least one finger resting on a trigger at all times. However after ten minutes of no-contact, the team began to relax… specifically Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams whom was beginning to feel a little guilty. She'd been slightly too shell-shocked by the sudden Geth Attack, and the traumatising deaths of her entire Squad… to ask for the names of her saviours… which she felt was a touch rude seeing as they just saved her hide. So as inconspicuously as she could, she began observing her new Commander… it was hard to see her face what with that helmet in the way, but from what she could see… she wanted to stay on her slightly less-scary good side…

_So… how to do this_, thought Ashley thinking carefully.

The Commander stood there typing away on her Omni-Tool, looking slightly less frightening than she did a few minutes ago… So hoping to get some information from her new – sombre – Commander, she decided to step up to the plate, and…

"Uhm… sorry to interrupt Commander," she stumbled on her way to the plate, wincing slightly at the rather sharp glare she received in return from the woman.

"I hope this is important… Chief."

"Sorry, but Commander, er… you, uhm… you never told me your names, um… Ma'am," finished Ashley – a tad bit – lamely.

"What… don't you have a data-link to our Tac-Net?" asked Commander in confusion.

"Er – no… I don't have clearance to access an N7 – or even an N5 for that matter – data-net," she explained a hint of anger in voice, "besides… their blocking all Comm-frequencies… I can't even pick up your Omni-Tools."

The Commanders glare – softened – her eyes quickly flicking from her Omni-Tool to her new sub-ordinate.

"Sorry Chief, you should've spoken up earlier," she turned toward the Sentinel standing next to her, "this is Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko…"

Turning back to face the Chief, the woman identified herself as, "and I am Commander Jane Shepard."

Unbeknownst to Ashley – and the Squad in general – she would be the second person to be saved from a dislocated by her helmet that day. However Shepard wasn't feeling so lucky… that look she saw on the Chiefs' face… was one she had seen before… It was a look that filled her heart with dread… It was the look of a –

"OH MY GOOD… Your Shepard," squealed Ashley like a little girl, "you're **the** Shepard!"

A…a…**a**…_**Fangirl!**_

Shepard turned to her trusty Lieutenant… looking for help… but unfortunately he stood there with a smug look on his face… seemingly enjoying this new development far – far – too much.

_The Bastard_, fumed Shepard.

Turning back to the matter at hand and her new 'groupie'… the only thing Shepard could do is shake her head at that. This was probably the one thing that they didn't teach her how to handle in basic – or at Officer School or even at the 'Villa' – how to deal with _**creepy **_Fans. But before she could talk down her new fangirl –

Beeeeeep…

The proximity warning went off. They had arrived at the Star Port.

"Okay, Team… Form up, I've got point," commanded Shepard, leading her Squad out onto the cluttered platform.

In the vanguard of the formation, Shepard panned her Rifle from left or right.

In the middle of the squad, with his Pistol out Kaiden had engaged the scanner on his Omni-Tool.

While Williams brought up the rear with her Assault Rifle.

"Clear," called Shepard from her position near the rail.

So far… so good, thought Shepard…

Once again challenging the Universe.

Beep… came an innocuous sounding tone from Alenko's Omni-Tool.

"Uhm, Commander… my Geiger-Counters getting a reading."

"Crap…"

* * *

**+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=8 Kilometres from the Space Port=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[?.?.?]=+**

**+=[mark: +****32.31.00]=+**

* * *

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Building after building.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Street after Street.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Kilometre after kilometre.

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Sergeant Sigmund kept running at a breakneck pace, for the last five minutes… during which he had no contact with the enemy… hostile or otherwise. According to his armours internal cogitator, he had average a speed of fifteen kilometres an hour, since his last hostile contact. Using the visual suite within his helm, Sigmund had set – as a waypoint – a tower opposite the Space Port and used it as a visual land mark. According to his range-finder it was beyond 'Visual Range' of his equip –

**Beep…**

_Okay, at most ten 'kays' to go_, thought Sigmund, _time to pick up the pace._

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

Thud. Thump

However less than thirty seconds later. Contact.

In the time between seconds, in the moment beats, Sigmund's gene-hanced mind began to analyse the battlefield:

**+=[mark: + 02.32.00]=+**

_**Theoretical:**_

_Twenty-two enemy contacts; no civilian or allied units._

_Twenty-one infantry units; one quad-walker._

_**Tactical:**__ Three infantry squads supporting an armoured unit._

_Courtyard, running along main road; no over-watch._

_**Practical:**_

_Engage two unsupported squads at range._

_Eliminate Walker and supporting Squad utilising Melta-Charge._

Time began to move again.

Before the Geth could detect his presence –

**Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink.**

**BANG!**

_First squad eliminated…_

He charged through their remains.

_Second squad sighted. Engage…_

**Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink. Thud-Clink.**

Three rounds centre mass.

_Second squad eliminated…_

Crunch, a broken platform collapsed under his armoured boot.

He reached for his belt.

Disengaged a mag-locked Charge.

**Chink…**

He thumbed the activation lever.

He lobbed the Charge, over-arm.

He was still charging away from the mech and the last squad when –

**Boom-Whoosh.**

His inner visor polarised… then cleared.

He moved through the remains of the Geth force.

_Walker eliminated. Third squad eliminated._

**+=[mark: + 07.32.00]=+**

He broke contact from the enemy, having eliminated every contact. He continued down the road until –

"By the Ancients," breathed out the stunned Legionnaire.

He rounded the corner, checking the boulevard, but before he could cross the street –

_I sense, no warp sorcery yet…_

The cross-street was lined with spikes.

Each one baring a single victim.

Each victim was ashen grey and twisted.

And yet… according to his Witch-Sight…

Each and every victim… still had their Souls.

He sensed no warp taint or daemonic presence.

It was almost… clinical… no emotion…

This wasn't done by Man… it felt almost…

_Why would the machines do this, he wondered, do they even understand the concept of psychological warfare?_

Before he could analyse this… atrocity further, a corpse twitched.

Before he could investigate the motion… the spikes began to lower.

Before he could wonder upon this latest development… the corpses began to rise…

The **Husks** began to shuffle towards him…

_How natural was that name?_

**Beep…**

**+=[EMP Field Detected]=+**

His mind shifted, allowing the analytical savant came to the fore…

**+=[mark: + 45.32.00]=+**

_**Theoretical:**_

_Fifty plus Contacts; deceased… assume Hostile._

_No unit cohesion apparent; assume Swarm Behaviour._

_Close Quarters Combatants; tactical electronic warfare capabilities._

_**Practical:**_

_Discharge EMP at range; deploy Grenade._

_Engage Hostiles in CQB; utilise Nemesis Blade._

_Disengage from Hostiles; repeat…_

Like a Hindu-deity, his hands began to move in a circle.

Left… Down… Round…

Right… Up… Round…

Left-hand to Grenade-Dispenser.

Right-hand to the Hilt of his Power-Sword.

He advanced upon the Cybernetic Horrors.

At ten feet… he threw the Grenade, underhanded.

At five feet… he drew and swung his Blade.

**Whump… Crackle…**

_Minus twelve Contacts…_

**Slick…**

_Minus three Contacts… Withdraw…_

**+=[mark: + 48.32.00]=+**

He fell back, a dozen paces.

Lobbed another Grenade into the Horde.

He advanced forward… toward the groaning cyber-zombies.

**Whump… Crackle…**

_Minus seventeen Contacts…_

At five feet, he slashed his blade across the Horde.

**Slick…**

_Minus four Contacts… Withdraw…_

**+=[mark: + 50.32.00]=+**

He fell back again, to the right.

Lobbed a final Grenade… centre of the enemy mass.

He advanced into the Husks… once more.

At five feet, he thrust his sword… impaling a corpse.

**Shick...**

**Frump… Crackle…**

_Minus fourteen Contacts…_

A final sweep of his blade, beheading the last two Contacts.

_Minus two Contacts. Negative Contact. Advance…_

**+=[mark: + 54.32.00]=+**

With purpose he advanced through the field of Death… and Unlife… his gaze locked on the Horizon. The focused Marine advanced towards one of his primary objectives… Almost oblivious to any that may be observing him – unseen – from a distance. Ignorant of the meeting that was about to unfold… he stepped forward… His footsteps shaking the very foundations of this new Galaxy.

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Space Port=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[54.32.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****54.32.00]=+**

* * *

Kaiden Alenko was having a long… 'stressful' day.

They had lost the Rookie…

He felt responsible.

Their Commanding Officer was probably Psychotic… or at least Insane…

He felt responsible for that too.

And now… they had a Nuke to disarm…

He for a fact that he was definitely responsible for that!

There was only one word to properly explain a day like today, and that word is… Monday.

Sadly – it was Thursday – which only made it worse, because it far beyond what he was capable of… he couldn't deal with more than one Monday a Week!

Drawn – from his thoughts – back to the matter at hand, Kaiden activated his Omni-Tool, and began to scan the device on the ground before him.

"Accessing the Device now," he called out toward the rest of the Squad.

**+=[Interfacing]=+**

**+=[Exchanging Hand-Shake Protocol]=+**

**+=[Loading Directories]=+**

This brought a crease to the Sentinels brow, there were three Directories…

**+=[Firing Algorithm]=+**

**+=[Diagnostic]=+**

**+=[Networked Devices]=+**

"Talk to me Alenko," Shepards' voice broke him out of his internal deliberations, "what have we got?"

"I'm getting a return on my Geiger Counter from this Device, and so far there appears to be no Security… no Firewalls… no Encryption."

His fingers continued to dance across the Haptic-Interface – of his Omni-Tool – as Alenko accessed the first Directory – the Firing Algorithum – only to get…

**+=[Access Denied]=+**

… and a Count-Down appeared.

**+=[00:13:54]=+**

**+=[00:13:53]=+**

**+=[00:13:52]=+**

"Shit… I've got a count-down here, Commander," calls Alenko over his shoulder, "busy… by-passing."

Thinking back to his Sentinel Training, Kaiden started off by bombarding the Firing Algorithm with his customised set of hackware and attack packages, to get… nothing. The attack software would sail towards the bastion walls, only to strike and dissipate, leaving nary a scratch on the Holographic Cube… that represented the Firing Directory. It just sat there, unmoving… inviolable.

**+=[00:13:48]=+**

_Time to change tactics_, growled Kaiden mentally, _maybe another Directory… ahhh…_

Switching Directories, he brought up the Diagnostic Cube, it was orange… and made up of a million other tiny cubes. With a few slight strokes of his fingers, he opened a modified Overload program and with a flick of his wrist it streaked toward the Directories Walls like a Comet trailing digital smoke. It struck the orange Cube… dissolving several small security cubes and poisoning the rest. In a wave of blue electronic smoke the Cube gradually turned for a garish orangey-yellow to a soft electric-blue. Eventually the entire Cube had turned blue and with a small chime… the hacked directory forced a Diagnostic, and – _Bingo!_

**+=[00:13:32]=+**

The case hissed open, exposing a snake pit of twisting… ensnared wires, gingerly Kaiden's hand reached out and into the pit. Slowly… gently… trying not to disturb the sleeping – apocalyptic – creature, as his hand rifled through its chest cavity, searching for… As if bitten, Kaiden ripped his hand from the snake-pit of wires… with a small silvery sphere clutched in his fist. He opened his hand and gazed down at the small flickering power-core resting on his palm… as the holographic screen of the Device died, and according to his Omni-Tool, the Mass Effect Field that held together the super-heavy radioactive isotope had failed. Without it the increased gravitational field the tiny micro-gram of a Synthetic Radioactive Particulate, which acted as a firing pin, couldn't hold itself together and… dispersed. Without it, the Device was just a lead-lined box… with a few kilograms of radioactive waste.

**+=[00:13:14]=+**

Just a fancy dirty-bomb, thought Kaiden dismissively, _it wouldn't really destroy that much… just a few hundred metres around it… so why…?_

Kaiden shook his head, they weren't trying to destroy the Colony… they were trying to kill it. You couldn't farm land that was radioactive… hell after this attack on a supposedly 'safe' world; Colonial investment would probably dry-up.

"Got it Commander," replied Kaiden cheerfully, what with the crisis narrowly avoided, "…Ah-oh…"

According to the Networked Devices Directory, this Device was One… of Five…

**+=[00:13:05]=+**

* * *

"Ah-oh… what do you mean 'Ah-oh'?" asked Shepard with rising exasperation, she yelled back "the last person you ever want to here say 'Ah-oh' is your bomb-disposal Technician."

Alenko turned toward the Commander looking quite sheepish, "well Commander… according to this Data, this Device, is One of Five…"

_Shit, just what I need_, thought Shepard in sardonic depression.

**+=[00:12:58]=+**

"Alright people, form up on me," commanded Shepard almost robotically, "Alenko you've got point."

They advanced along the open station platform toward the retaining wall; they formed a Tac-Stack and moved along the wall… only to round the corner and –

Damn, cursed Shepard mentally.

The path split directly in front of them; up to the left and down to the right. To the left was a stairway leading to a raised platform, which ran along the side of the tramway trench. Two bridges ran across the tramway, one high and one bellow, the former was further and the later was closer. The bridges crossed to another platform, which was almost identical to the one on their side. After a moment's thought Shepard – using an ancient martial art, which was possessed by all great leaders throughout history – made her decision…

**+=[00:12:49]=+**

"Enie… Meanie… Mynie… MO…!"

"Uhm… Commander, what are you doing?" asked Kaiden worriedly.

"I'm making a Mission Critical decision," replied the redhead in an off-hand and above all flippant way, as she flicked her finger left and right.

Coming to a decision Shepard declared, "Okay… you and Williams go left… and I'll go right…"

"Uhm… are you –"

Shepard – with a swipe of her hand through the air – cut Kaiden off before he could even gather the energy to critique her properly, declaring, "You'll hold the high ground, and I'll flank 'em from bellow."

With confidence, they didn't have a few minutes ago, in stereo the Marines declared, "Aye Commander."

The Squad split, with Shepard descending down to the bridge, while Kaiden and Ashley proceeded up to the raised platform. Kaiden and Ashley, where halfway up the stairs… when Shepard began to cross the lower bridge.

**+=[00:12:25]=+**

So far so goo –

Crack!

Hypersonic rounds, roared out the end of the automatons guns, towards the lone Marine… exposed on the bridge.

The tiny sand-grain sized projectiles screeched towards her, ricocheting off the deck-plating (of the Bridge) beneath her boots…

The hypersonic particles were pitting the metallic surface beneath her and fizzing as they were deflected by her Kinetic-Barriers.

Adrenalin… burned through her veins… her heart began to drum away… the rounds kept getting closer… a closer…

Her heart was hammering away… faster and faster… with moments to… with a line rounds drilling right toward her…

Shepard kicked her pace up a notch…

Halfway across the bridge, **Fzzzzt**, her shields began to flicker…

Bringing up her Rifle she blind fired, back at the platform behind her…

The muzzle roared over shoulder, while her boots slammed into the decking bellow…

The stairs were ten paces away… eight… six… four… three… two… one… **Fzzzzzzzzt**…

She reached the stairs, her kinetic-shields failing, halfway up… they broke… shattering like glass…

**Snap**… she was thrown down sprawled across the stairs…

**Thrumm**… reflexively her Biotics saved her from being torn to ribbons…

She scrabbled on her hands and feet up the last… few steps… scrambling to her feet…

She leapt over a crate… and tumbled behind it… scrambling on her knees… slamming into cover…

Firing blindly over the rounded crate… she kept her head down, as hypersonic projectiles tore past her cover…

"Okay Kaiden… *[pant]* talk to me, where's the nearest Device?"

=Uhm Commander… your leaning against it…=

**+=[00:12:00]=+**

* * *

**+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=Space Port=+**

**+=[042.183.M03]=+**

**+=[00.34.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****00.34.00]=+**

* * *

Malcador stood upon the embankment above the retaining wall of the Tram Station that led to the Space Port. He was invisible to all – in the eyes of the Universe that hill-side was empty… The ethereal First Lord could care less what the people of this Galaxy thought of him… he was here with purpose. He was here to observe this Commander 'Shepard'. He wanted to see her abilities… he wanted to test her mettle… she had peaked his curiosity, and being able to observe in combat against these mechanical abominations… well… this was an opportunity to good for him to let it slip through his fingers. There had to be something special about this woman… something that the Emperor had seen… something – even with his far-sight – that he couldn't see… something that made her a unique instrument in what was to come.

Observing her… he just couldn't see it. Her Aura wasn't unique, like the male on her team; it had a purplish-blue tinge to it. He focused his Witch-Sight on them… and he saw the purplish-black nebulae that flowed through their veins… swirling around these blue nodules of a substance that he couldn't identify… that seemed to Warp the space around them. They had the same weapons and armour… there was nothing special about either of them… they had the same implants at the back of their skulls. The male's implants seemed older though… no that wasn't it… he swept his gaze over their equipment again to see if –

_Wait is that woman wearing pink?_

He was slightly shell-shocked at that Soldiers particular choice in camouflage, that he completely missed the discussion between 'Shepard' and her sub-ordinates. He was drawn back to the scene playing out in front of him… when Shepard began to sprint away from her Squad, across the bridge.

_What kind of coward, runs from –_

Before he could finish that thought, the machines began to open fire on the sprinting warrior. But before machines could focus the forces to strike her down… her sub-ordinates had struck them in the flank, while they were distracted. They were torn to shreds, before they could even respond… half of their number – on the left-hand platform – had been cut down.

_Impressive… they act as individuals, and yet… they complement each other so well_, contemplated Malcador as he watched the battle unfold.

Like a well choreographed play, they danced back and forth dealing death to their enemies… one would damage or hinder a group of machines, and another would slowly whittle away at their exposed machinery.

I wonder, is such training common? Or is this a special fighting style that the 'Shepard' had developed herself?

He was drawn from his internal contemplation, when he saw Shepard's shields flicker as she began to dodge enemy fire. As he watched her shields crack… he reached out and felt…

Is that –

Her shields broke… she stumbled and –

How is that possible?

Before his very eyes, he watched her draw energies from the Warp into her body… and with a flash… her form was consumed by blue swirling flames, distorting her visible form. He turned back to watch the other half of her team, and saw that at least one of the other soldiers of her squad was a Psyker.

He was interested in this facetted woman, this 'Shepard'… this latent Psyker… he was drawn toward her… he wished to see into her mind. He wanted to unravel the increasing number of mysteries that surrounded this woman… he wanted to see how she ticked. He took a single immaterial step towards her… and crossed the hundred or so metres that separated him… from her position.

He arrived in time to hear, "… well how was I supposed to know that?!"

**+=[00:11:59]=+**

* * *

Shepard had faced the worst the Galaxy had to offer.

She had faced the most gruelling training known to man.

She had faced the most brutal and violent scum the Galaxy had to offer.

She had faced and survived terrible things that would break or kill weaker people.

But now… she faced something that – truly – brought fear into her heart… she was expected to defuse a bomb – no problem – they expected her to do it with her Omni-Tool… with technology… Ah-Oh… and not her preferred tools… say a pocket knife and some duck-tape.

"Okaaaay… so how am I supposed to do this?" asked Shepard, her exasperation evident in her tone… and rising.

**+=[00:11:38]=+**

=Okay, now open your Apps Folder and – =

"What's an App?" asked a bemused Shepard, her face creased in confusion.

= … =

"Kaiden?"

=Okay, okay… go to your directory and – =

"What's a Directory?"

After a moment of silence, Kaiden tried again =Alright… let's try this… I'm sending you an E-mail… You know what an E-mail is right? =

"Er… yeah."

='Kay, I'm sending you a link… You got it? =

"Yep."

=Good, now open it and tap the icon called 'Overload'… =

"Got it… Now what?"

=Now flick it at the Device… =

"I got an error message…"

=ARRRRGH *[Static]* =

"Alenko?"

=Listen very carefully, Shepard… now, put your finger on the cube marked 'Overload." =

"Okay…"

=Now… point your wrist at the Bomb. Run your finger down your arm at the Device. =

"Done… the case is opening… Now what?" queried Shepard.

=You have to carefully remove the Power-Supply from – =

"I know how to do that," whined Shepard angrily, "why didn't you tell me to do that in the first place? I could've done that without this stupid glowing _**thing!**_"

=Wha – … you mean… you just made me waste, the last five minutes – under-fire – for – =

"Well… I don't know how to use this damn thing," muttered Shepard sardonically.

= … **THUD** *[Static]*… =

**+=[00:08:59]=+**

Shepard shrugged, and quickly disarmed the Device.

"Alenko? Alenko… you there? Talk to me," commanded Shepard exasperatedly, "Williams what happened?"

=Uhm… the LT just slammed his head into a crate… I think he's okay, I'm more worried about the Geth… he seems very angry at them for some reason… =

With a shrug Shepard turned back to the battle at hand, she looked over the railing to see that Williams and Alenko had drawn the attention of most the Geth… easing the volume of fire off her position… but that wouldn't last. It was obvious that the Geth had some sort of wireless alarm built into the Devices, because it take that long for them to turn their focus back to Shepard… while a new squad moved up to continue the assault on Alenko's position.

_Okay you bastards, take this!_

She swung out of cover, her armour scraping on the corner of a support-pillar that was behind her. She drew her arm back and slammed a devastating Biotic Punch… that sailed through the air like a canon-ball, smashing into a group of white-painted Geth casting them aside… like a bunch of rag-dolls tumbling across the platform.

**+=[00:08:03]=+**

* * *

Upon a wooded hillock, less than a hundred metres from the Space Port… a dark pin-prick appeared four feet above the ground. Reality began to thin… the very Fabric of Space and Time began to stretch… and the world around it began to bend, and like a fragile rod of glass… snapped under the strain. From the tear in the very Fabric of Reality… strode a tall mysteriously robed figure. The tall – unnaturally thin – humanoid strode from the portal wreathed in violent twisting energies, in its long delicate hands it carried a long white –almost organic – Rifle… the likes of which this world had never seen before. The beings form was shrouded in a dark-emerald leather duster with a shadowy green hood, its short sleeves and multiple coat-tails, exposing both pairs of dark-brown cavalrymen's knee-length boots and greenish brown elbow-length gloves. From within the leather coat, jutted a pair of pale-white wooden pistol grips with bronze accents, both of which contrasted elegantly with the bronze hilted sabre attached and cinched at the enigmas waist. The exotic and eclectic equipment was not what drew the eye of the casual observer… No… it wasn't the eldritch guns or the bronze hilted blade… it was the pair of piercing emerald green eyes that were bisected by a pair of alien – yet elegant – tattoos that disappeared under the smooth organic looking bone-white respirator.

After a moment of inaction… I one smooth well practised motion, the Eldar Pathfinder, dropped to one knee and brought her Rifle up to her shoulder. Behind her the violation of Space and Time lay forgotten as it closed, returning the world back to normality. Her eyes turned downward, Taldeer the Outcast turned all of her considerable abilities to the task at hand. She focused the scope of her bone-white long Rifle, upon the mechanical battle between the Humans and these soulless automatons in the Transit Station – that led to the Space Port – bellow. And within moments – and with well-practise ease – she had quickly zeroed the female Mon-keigh leader within the sights of her Rifled scope.

Hmmmm…

And what Taldeer saw intrigued her to no end; she was a veteran Ranger, a Pathfinder whom had lost her way on the Path of the Outcast long ago… and in all her centuries of wandering she had never seen a Psyker like the youthful woman bellow her at the gates of the Space Port. This Mon-keigh… this 'Shepard'… glowed with eldritch energies the likes of which she had neither seen nor heard of before, and yet… according to her Scope and the rest of her equipment… she could detect little to no Warp energy involved in her powers… certainly her abilities far exceeded the amount of energy the Pathfinder could detect.

_Interesting – yes certainly – but I could not fathom why I have been sent… according to the Farseer I've been sent to ensure that this __**Mon-keigh**__ woman and that Astartes… __**Barbarian**__… must meet. Surely we can succeed on our own, without the involvement of these… __**blink-lives**_, she raged within the confines of her mind.

With a growl she cast those thoughts from her mind; those were the thoughts of lesser child wandering upon the Eldar Path. She may have lost herself upon the Path of the Outcast centuries ago… but such a fate – while terrible to those still freely wandering down the Paths – brought her a sense of clarity that the rest of the Children of Asuryan could not hope to match. She knew – _far better than most_ – that the actions of the Farseer were far – **far** – beyond her Ken… but her motives – _her reasoning_ – were plain – _blindingly so_ – for everyone to see. The Farseer only purpose was the survival of the Craftworld and the Eldar people as a whole… that much was clear… beyond that? Who could say…

Every Act… of every Play… of every Performance… was for the betterment of their people… even this odyssey into a New Galaxy…

Drawn back to the Mon-keigh bellow… fighting for their blink-lives… unlike their brethren back in the… Lost Galaxy… they had a grace which the humans in her home Galaxy seemed to have lost… and yet beneath that veneer there seethed a dangerous beast… one that the Eldar had fought before, and will fight again… if the Farseer is to be believed. The battle was progressing, but the human advance had stalled… the attackers seemed to have lost the momentum – at the moment – and had bunkered down behind some metal crates… of which were gradually being torn down by the merciless weapons of those soulless machines. That was another thing that fascinated Taldeer about the people of this Galaxy… their weapons… it intrigued her to no-end. Their weapons were so familiar… just like the Shuriken Pistols at her waist… however unlike their brethren in the Lost Galaxy they didn't seem to have Laz-Weapons.

She was drawn from her musing when she noticed that only one of the humans was firing at the Machines.

_Why weren't they fighting back_, wondered Taldeer in confusion?

Further… intrigued by the seemingly bizarre behaviour of these humans, Taldeer brought her right-hand up to the leather collar of her hood, she activated her adapted Warp-Communicator to tap into the Human Vox-Traffic.

After a minute of intercepting the Human squad communications… the ranger began to shake.

Her fingers became boneless, as she dropped her Rifle and clawed desperately at her mask.

She dropped to her hands and knees and her shoulders continued to shake violently…

Until she lost all control, and unable to hold it any longer… she burst out…

… Laughing?

_Oh by the Gods_, she thought her mind filled with mirth, _these Mon-keigh are blessed by Cegorath himself._

It touched an ancient – youthful – part of her soul, and to think that humans in this Galaxy had perhaps the most obscure and unique of traits that a Child of Man could ever hope to possess.

_These humans, bizarrely though it may sound, had a sense of… Humour. _

Brought back to the battle-at-hand – or perhaps the battle that could be turn by her Hands – Taldeer brought the all Spectrum-Scope of her Long-Rifle back to her right-eye. Her increased vigilance seemed to coincide with an increased volume of Fire, as well as a renewed offensive against these strange Humans. The machines seemed to be trying to suppress them, with overwhelming Fire. This turn of events concerned the Veteran Pathfinder, as the Machines got closer and closer to the human-positions; she became more and more concerned as the battle-progressed. As the Battle degenerated… the 'Shepard' became more isolated… and the enemy units just got Bigger and Stronger.

After the first few waves of the basic blue-grey automatons were cut down in droves by the – divided – Human guns… the Geth seemed to pause… But it didn't last long, as they forced the Machines back… the Fallen were replaced by newer and stronger White Troopers. The disparate Humans could no-longer fight along… and they didn't disappoint the Enigmatic Ranger on her hill. The Ranger knew that these new units would necessitate a change in Tactics by the Humans, and it fascinated her to see them alter their Tactics on the move. From the single one-on-one Duels – of a few minutes ago – with their Mechanical Enemies… to an impressive of almost Ranger-like guerrilla Tactics… _for Humans anyway._

If Taldeer had any knowledge of Human sports, she would have described the Battle bellow in the Space Port as a rather weird game of Tennis. The field was dominated by Purple balls energy and strange Orange orbs sailing back and forth across the space between emplacements; to knock opposing units out of Cover, or to disable their guns or destroy their barriers. The Humans wouldn't deploy their abilities to the front though… they would deploy them on the flanks… _Smart_… these Tactics confused the Logical Machines with their lateral thinking. The machines weren't fighting the soldiers in front of them… they were fighting the soldiers to their left or their right… thus divided, the Humans managed to cut down their technological foes in great swathes… until –

"Uh-Oh," it was around this time that Taldeer spotted a _**minor**_ problem.

Three of them in fact…

She drew a bead on the massive white machines, they were almost as big as the Imperial Astartes that she had once fought, two of them advanced toward the pair of humans on the left… while another began to stomp towards the 'Shepard' behind her little metal barrier. From Taldeer's position the battle only seemed to become more and more precarious as time wore on… it appeared that the 'Shepard' and her team were preoccupied deactivating a series on devices across the Tram-Station… because the only Mon-Keigh – that was firing at the approaching Behemoths – was the one wearing the strange Eldar – armour – like outfit. The giants would take at least a minute to reach the nearest human pair and another minute or more to reach the 'Shepard… wait – they split up… one was crossing the far Bridge… and another pair was advancing on the Pink-Mon-Keigh and other in grey leaning over a metal box.

These turn of events had left Taldeer feeling… conflicted.

Her orders were clear; ensure that this 'Shepard and the – in the Farseers words not hers – 'Barbarian' meet. None of the other Mon-keigh were required for this, but without her Squad… Shepard would be quickly over-run by the re-enforcement of soulless machines swarming her position. However… if she fired – her pride – as a Ranger dictated that she would need to shift position to confuse the enemy… and a second Shot would be completely out of the question.

She drew a bead on the Pink-Mon-keigh with her Scope, and accessed the variables…

The first machine got within fifteen paces of the Pink-Human, his shields flaring…

She drew the giant into the centre of her scope, and yet indecision reigned…

The white monstrosity seemed to grow within her scope, getting closer…

He advanced within ten paces; she zeroed the crosshairs on his chest…

He kept getting closer… and closer, his weapon firing eating away…

At the cover on the Tram-platform, soon he was five paces away…

In desperation Taldeer swung her gun and sighted Shepard through her Scope…

Pin-pointing the Human being cover on the opposite platform, firing away…

Time seemed to slow… Taldeer couldn't delay any further, she had to –

A blue figure crested the embankment above Shepard…

A small smile graced her thin feminine lips as…

She Swung her Rifle round, back to the…

Pink-Mon-Keigh and the Pale Giant…

Her finger squeezing gentle on…

The Trigger, a bright Lance…

Of Light seared from the…

End of the Barrel…

Toward the…

Platform…

"And so the Blue Dragon finally decides to show up, and we can begin our little play…"

* * *

**+=[00:06:48]=+**

_Just cut the damn wire_, groused Shepard nervously within the confines of her mind.

She pulled at a red wire, quickly bending it over the serrated edge of her Trench-Knife.

**+=[00:06:45]=+**

_Wait… according to the schematic, I must only cut the Rouge wire…_

She picked up another red wire, and…

**+=[00:06:42]=+**

_But I mustn't cut the Crimson wire…_

Under helmet her brow creased even further, as she looked at a third red wire…

**+=[00:06:39]=+**

… _and I mustn't let it touch the Burgundy wire, or…_

She looked down at a fourth red wire…

**+=[00:06:36]=+**

… _let it cross with the Scarlet wire… _

_Now… to by-pass the power-core safeties, I must connect the Rouge wire to the Ruby wire…_

Irritated she looked down at the snake pit of red wires snaking throughout the case…

**+=[00:06:30]=+**

_Now which ones the Ruby?_

"Arghh!" Shepard cried out in frustration, _how am I supposed to know which is which, damn it… I'm a Marine, not a Bloody Interior Decorator!_

**+=[00:06:27]=+**

In a decision that would probably come back to haunt her, Shepard decided to take a more direct approach. She plunged one hand into the Case, grabbing as many wires as she could, drawing them as far out of the case as she could. With her Trench-Knife in her other hand she bent the wires over the serrated edge.

**+=[00:06:24]=+**

_Three… Two… One…_

She ripped through all the wires in one go, and… nothing. She reached into the now open case, and slid the power-core from its housing in the centre of the case.

**+=[00:06:21]=+**

**+=[00:06:21]=+**

**+=[00:06:21]=+**

**+=[00:06:21]=+**

_That's two for me and –_

=I got the last one Commander= informed Kaiden over the Comms.

_Crap… and three for Alenko_, thought Shepard morosely, _wait… why is nobody shooting at m –_

**Bang!**

With adrenalin surging through her veins, Shepard spun round bringing her Rifle up to her shoulder when –

**Boooom!**

_Whaa?_

She stared in shock at huge white Geth that charged right at her.

**Brrrrrrrrrrrr.**

She put burst after burst into the hulking… thing, but its shields just shrugged it off… it never stopped stomping towards her.

She kept a heavy finger on the trigger, until…

**Fzzzzzzzt…**

Its shields dropped, just a little more and –

**Click… ssssssssh.**

"Crap!"

Her gun jammed, and the Geth was still charging her.

She sprung from cover, and rolled out of the way.

The Geth smashed through the crates she'd…

Been crouched behind a moment ago…

Dropping her over heated Rifle…

Drew her Shotgun, and spun…

Round to see… the back…

Of the pale machine…

It was reaching…

For the…

_**Power-Core! **_

"Oh-no you don't!" yelled Shepard, as she emptied her Shotgun into the great white Geths back.

**Bang-ping.**

**Bang-clink.**

**Bang…**

Nothing could put a dent in its armour… eventually, it turned to face her.

**Bang… Bang… BANG… Click-ssssssh.**

She stowed her over heated Shotgun…

The Geth brought up its… Cannon…

She spun round and ran into cover…

The Geth opened fire, chew away…

At her cover, Fzzzzt, and shields…  
A minute into the barrage, with…

A Crack, her shields fell, and…

Slammed her a few feet out…

Of cover, bouncing off the…

Metal grating bellow her…

Groggily, she crawled…

Onto her hands and…

Knees, slightly…

Concussed…

She rolled over to find…

With mounting horror she stared down the gaping mouth of the Geths Cannon… aiming right at her skull.

Cold fury surged violently through her veins…

Timed seemed to slow as her blood burned…

That cold fury turned to a swelling pressure…

Building inexorably at the base of her skull…

The pressure built until she couldn't hold it…

She let a trickle of energy run down her arm…

She pulled back her arm, the power spiked…

And she slammed her fist forward, energy…

Surging round her sailed like a freight-train…

Straight at the towering immovable Geth…

The swirling blue orb struck, the Geth Prime staggering it back, crumpling its chest.

Under the rapidly shifting gravities of the Warp, its armour twisted and cracked.

Fighting against the swirling energy, it tried to bring up its giant heavy Rifle.

It tried to lock its Sensors on the glowing organic, throwing energy at it.

Shepard throat was sore as she roared with laughter…

Her left arm was shaking violently as she pulled…

Back again, it was sheathed in writhing blue…

Energy, she readied a pneumonic, before…

The alien android could react, Shepard…

Slammed her arm forward, a wave…

Of pale swirling energy rolled…

Toward the broken machine…

**THUMP!**

When the over-powered Biotic Push, touched the remnants of the Biotic Warp, the results were… explosive to say the least. The inversely polarised shifting gravity fields annihilated each other, resulting in a massive explosion of Dark Energy. Shepard was flung backwards – like a ragdoll – by the massive surge of colliding and shifting energies. She blacked-out on impact with the platform grating. Groggily she woke, in pain, more than fifteen feet from the bent crater at the heart of the explosion. She tried to get to her feet, but a sudden pain in the back of her neck, drove her to her knees.

"Well at least –"

**Click-Shlick…**

With trepidation Shepard was drawn from her thoughts by the ominous sounds of a weapon unfolding. She looked up, and down the barrel, of her own Shotgun. The big Geth – more grey than white now – but that didn't matter to the vulnerable commander because it had picked up her weapon and was pointing it at her head instead.

The last – slightly bitter – thought to rattle through her concussed mind was…

_Awe come on… you've got to be kidding me!_

* * *

**Codex Entry: Imperial Technology & Weaponry**

**Strange… that is a good way to describe the Technology of Imperial Space… Insane is another word that is often used to describe the Scientists and Engineers of these peoples. And the reason for that is? Simple most of their weapons technology violates all known Laws of Physics, Matter, Time and Space… and a few Laws we probably don't know about either.**

**But that is what makes them so fascinating… Put aside the archaic appearance of their technology… Put aside the fact that they have built a Religion around Technology… Put aside any and all preconceptions you may have… and stop and think for a moment. They have Plasma/Fusion Power Generators, they have Ship-to-Ship Laser Weaponry and their Ships violate all Laws of Space and Time to travel faster than Light. Their equipment is often centuries old, a yet continues to operate flawlessly to this day… it is therefore understandable that they venerate their Technology and openly deride all others.**

**To further explain their technology let us make a small list of the Types of Weaponry that are known to exist in the Imperial Armoury:**

**Directed Energy Weaponry****; from small Hand-Held units to Massive ship-board Batteries, of which the amount of power generation required to operate, is staggering… but proportional to the distance you wish to project the Beam. Depending on the amount of power at your disposal you could project a beam across a Battlefield or knock a Space-Craft from Orbit.**

**Plasma Weaponry****; more rare than Laser Weaponry, the technology needed to deploy such pieces is both volatile and of a magnitude far greater than most Citadel Technology in use today. Reports of such Technology deployed in the field range from small pistol like units, to vehicle mounted at Anti-Tank (and Anti-Ship) Weaponry, there is also suggest evidence of Space-Ship mounted Plasma Cannons. However the time taken for a Plasma-Bolt to reach its target limits its effectiveness.**

**Bolter/Rocket Weaponry****; the definition of which is… 'a Self-Contained weapons platform, that fires self-propelling munitions.' These 'self-propelled' rounds have a universally standardised calibre; however the platforms and types of munitions utilised are myriad. Examples of Bolters are extremely expensive and difficult to maintain, and yet there are some reported examples of Bolters that are centuries old.**

**Melta Weaponry****; utilise a miniature fusion reaction to generate a blast of intense searing heat, depending upon their configuration the heat could be projected in a searing stream of plasma or blasted out like a shotgun in a wide cone of heat. They are considered as Directed Energy Weaponry by most Citadel conventions.**

**Power Weapons****; appear to look like archaic Medieval Weaponry, when activated the weapon is enshrouded in a hazy blue field. The field disrupts the Molecular bonds between substances; the field-generator is often hidden within the Hilt of these Close-Combat Weapons. These weapons come in many shapes and forms – from sword to axes to mauls – and can even be made into a gauntlet (see. Power Fist).**

**Most famously and prolific of all is… the ****Chainsword****; a weapon of such undisguised brutality and the undisputed signature Weapon of Imperial Forces. It is a weapon system within a category all its own. The main edge of the Weapon is made of a series of counter rotating Admantium Teeth, which when used tear apart the Target with brutal efficiency, leaving such gaping wounds that even Krogan struggle to survive such blows. It is perhaps the most widespread of Close Combat Weapons Systems within Imperial Space, and the sound of it is instantly recognisable by any and all enemies of Imperial Forces.**

**There is anecdotal evidence of other Weapons such as Psycannons, Volkite Carronades, and Nova Cannons… whose existences has neither been confirmed nor denied. Disturbingly there are also reports of devastating 'Planet Killer' Weapons designed to strip entire Worlds of life within hours.**

**What can be said of a people based upon the Arms their soldiers bare?**

**Not much… but it raises a Question… How terrible must their enemies be to necessitate the Creation of such destructive weaponry?**

**(Extract from 'Tales from the Lost Galaxy – the Rise of Empire' by Prof. Kirradin Solus Biographer for (the Late) Prof. Mordin Solus)**

* * *

**Here's yer next installment FREE OF CHARGE... I would like to thank you all for your reviews, they are quite encouraging... and to answer Ursakar, while yes I could PM you to thank you for your review... I felt that since it was probably the most gracious and most helpful of most of the reviews I have had to date... it would therefore be disingenuous to not recognize your Review in as public a forum as possible... so here it is... **

**On another house keeping note there will always be a dichotomy in crossovers between the two Universes that are Crossed... they will influence each other for better - or worse - in myriad of unexpected ways... certain things will remain constant and certain things will change. The survival of Corporal Bhatia is one of the ways I hope the ME Galaxy would Change for the Better.  
**

**Hope you enjoy this installment... the next update is due on the 15/11/2013**


	6. Chapter 5 - Enter the Blue Dragon

**Date Published: 15/11/2013  
**

**Date Re-Edited: N/A  
**

**Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written… **

**So be it.**

* * *

**Writing Styles**

"Talking Normally"

_Thinking/Projecting Thoughts_

=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=

+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+

**Warhammer Date/Time Keeping**

+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+

+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+

+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+

* * *

**Chapter 5 **

**- Enter the Blue Dragon -**

* * *

**+=Sergeant Sigmund=+**

**+=Eden Prime=+**

**+=Constant (Capitol)=+**

**+=100 Metres from the Space Port=+**

**+=[?.?.M?]=+**

**+=[32.31.10]=+**

**+=[mark: +****21.41.00]=+**

* * *

Desolation.

Interdiction.

Exploration.

The desolated scorched irradiated field of burnt vegetation and rubble extended for almost a hundred metres, framed by partially destroyed buildings along its circumference. The structures between the destroyed fringes of the field were flattened… the exposed metal dull and glowing a burnt orange. Of the vegetation nothing but blackened stumps remained… the tumbled trees were burnt and broken, cast aside by a flaming giant. The small rural buildings were knocked down, the flimsy construction twisted and broken… leaving nothing more than a field of scattered ash and broken rubble.

The only jewel in this sea of desolation was a small beetle blue figure his form shrouded in the heat-haze of the ruined buildings. From a distance he appeared to be little more than a blurred blue mirage. His apparent speed lost in featureless sea of desolation… his figure sprinting through the irradiated field of destruction… his passage seen and remembered by no-one. The azure-blue armoured silhouette seemingly oblivious to the scorching heat of irradiated soil that passed swiftly beneath its armoured boots. Up close his form no-longer blurred by the heat as he sped through the desolated landscape, he towered over the ruins of the Capitol, his unnatural speed blurring his form further.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Hurdle the burning rubble and avoid the fallen trees.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

Left Foot. Right Foot.

The apocalyptic destruction…

The mind numbing tedium…

In the face of such desolation…

Weaker minds would break…

At the sight of such… such…

_**Oblivion…**_

But not Sigmund… no the Sergeant was… **something more**…

Before he was selected to become a Neophyte, he was the best his world had to offer…

Before he became a battle-brother, his physique was already beyond that of a mere-human…

And before he was seconded to Fenris, his mind had been honed to a point finer than any blade…

As an Astartes; his amour could shrug off punishment that would obliterate most tanks…

As a Sergeant; he was considered a paragon of leadership, the ideal leader of men….

As a Liberian; he was a Master of Knowledge and an initiate of all things arcane…

And…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of Tactics and Strategy…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of Logistics and Supply…

As an Ultramarine; he was a Master of the Arts of War…

No this meagre scene of devastation… would barely amount to anything more than a mere foot-note in his after action report…

**+=Burnt waste ground. Approximately a thousand metres square (1000 m****2****)=+**

**+=Assessment: Formed by an unknown form of Xeno Propulsion System upon its activation=+**

He might have even bother to include his medical log:

**+=Radiation Detected: Melanchrome Pigmentation Function Detected=+**

**+=Extreme Temperature variance Detected: Mucranoid Secretions Detected=+**

He doubted that his report would even need that level of detail…

_It probably wasn't even necessary_; he thought morosely, the vast amount of details going to waste.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

The impacts of his armoured boots cushioned by the grey newly fallen ash.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

The vibrations mitigated by the artificial muscle fibre bundles in his armour.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

He could continue onward like this for a thousand leagues… mile after mile…

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Thud. Thump.

Fortunately that would be unnecessary, because less than a hundred metres later –

**BOOOOM! THUMP!**

The overpressure of the blast-wave staggered the Marine; the second blast-wave brought his breakneck march to a halt. He turned ninety degrees to face the epicentre of the blast…

_Curious… that felt like…_

With sudden realisation and an extreme burst of speed toward the explosion…

His armour-systems blared a warning, at his sudden change in direction…

His onboard accelerometer recording nearly ten 'Gees' at the sudden…

Burst of speed, the sudden change in direction, towards his new…

He charged forward…

He crested the ridge…

And time slowed…

To a crawl…

The savant had emerged…

_**Theoretical:**_

_Transportation Station, two bridges, connecting parallel platforms._

_Eight Hostiles, Three PDF units, no over-watch._

_Two Large White units (no previous data), Five Shock-Toopers._

_**Practical:**_

_Eliminate Larger units at range, Engage remaining units in CQB._

_Interrogate surviving PDF for Primary Objectives._

_**Execute…**_

* * *

Time seemed to stand still…

_So this is how its ends_, thought Shepard morosely.

Her life flashed before her eyes…

_At least I think it's my Life… its way more exciting than I remember…_

The giant Geth raised her Shotgun clutched in its fist…

**Click…**

It jammed…

"Hah, take this…," Shepard taunted as she thrust a glowing Fist at it and –

**Boom!**

The Big-One exploded… as did the one behind it too…

_Whoa…_ she looked down at her hand… _it's never done that before…_

She heard another **Boom**, and then the platform shook with a **Thud**, then –

She looked to her right… and froze, at the sight before her…

_Ah crap, not again_, thought Shepard sardonically.

The new giant blue robot, with terrible red eyes…

And a snarling grill for a mouth, charged…

Shepard scrambled for her side-arm…

The giant charged… past her…?

She spun round, drawing…

Her pistol, only to…

Be struck…

_**Speechless…**_

The Geth were all focusing their fire on his position.

And their rounds were just bouncing off his armour.

He bull-rushed the nearest Geth Shock Trooper.

Guillotining it in half between its forearm and the railing.

Shepard just stood there – **stunned** – watching its blue pack advancing across the bridge away from her.

It advanced inexorably toward the remaining pair of Geth.

Continuously under fire from a pair of platforms ahead of it.

It seemed almost… bored, as their fired rained down around it.

He got within four feet of the first Geth.

With frightening speed it charged at them.

He turned his right shoulder to face the Geth.

He drew his right-arm up, back across his chest.

And swung his massive arm out at the nearest Geth.

Crushing it back against the railing, bashed into pieces.

Its cybernetic remains tumbling into the trench, off the Bridge.

Shepard, whose jaw was mere moments away from touching her knees, just stood there speechless.

The only thought going through her mind was; _how the hell am I going to explain this in my after-action report? He just Bitch-Slapped that last Geth –_

The giant had just gotten to the last Geth.

He leaned, shifting his weight to the right.

His armoured boot lashed out, slamming…

The Geth against a crate, crushing it to pieces.

Watching from the sidelines Shepard could only gawk further…

_Okaaay… There's no-way that I can explain that_, thought Shepard as her sarcasm gave way to awe, as she stared down the pieces of Geth that lay at her feet.

"… and to be frank… someone's going to have to explain all _**this**_ to me," she thought out-loud to the platform at large.

Shepard – watching the still form of the giant blue robot – broke out of her stupor. Focusing on the huge pack of the blue giant… she came to a decision.

_Discretion maybe __**isn't**__ the better part of Valour… 'cause I want to talk to it_, thought Shepard giddily, as she advanced upon the Giant throwing caution to the wind.

* * *

_Well… that was boring_, thought Shepard with a depressed sigh, that came out of his vocaliser as static which sounded like a synthesised wheeze.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a – non-hostile – contact approaching him, at least according to his Auspex. He tilted his head slightly and noticed the soldier – _**in pink**_ – was walking towards him. He was about to turn to face her when… he felt it. A deep ringing psionic pulse… that reverberated through his mind… with a strange – familiar… yet alien – echo. He turned… searching out the source of the ringing noise, he turned to face the gap in the retaining wall… _no, it's an entryway_… he moved slowly advancing with caution seeking out the source of the Echo. He marched through the square-archway… leaving behind a rather confused Squad of Alliance Marines.

* * *

Ashley was having a **very** weird day.

**First** she had been attacked by alien robots… that hadn't been seen in nearly three hundred years.

Then she had been saved by some crazy-lady… who then turned out to be 'The Commander Shepard."

So when the giant Geth – that was about to squish her – exploded in a searing flash of light… well…

_Par for the course_, thought the slightly desensitised Marine, shrugging off most – if not all – of the weirdness of the experience.

She didn't have time to think about it… there was still another big one to contend with… and – _**Oh Joy!**_ – He brought friends, she groused sarcastically. She brought up her rifle, to open fire when –

**Thud. Clink. Boom.**

**Thud. Clink. Boom.**

… Out of nowhere, the great big Geth in front of her just… _**vanished**_… from the knees up. The Geth was spread around her position… spread was a good word for it, cause most of the Machine was spread around in a fine paste. It was only later when she looked at the footage from her Helmets Cam, that she truly realised what had happened. But before she could even begin to comprehend what just happened, or how much weirder her – already strange – day had gotten… the platform beneath her feet rattled and shook.

Before she could even react to – or pin-point – the source of the impact… there was a loud crash to her right, and giant blue robot emerged from behind some crates – on the opposite platform – and charged towards her, across the furthest bridge.

She spun to face it, her Rifle coming up when…

"Kaiden…? Did you see that?" she asked the slightly ashen faced Biotic next to her.

"Yes… and according to my Omni-Tool… I'm not hallucinating," he replied calmly with a straight-face, not really believing what he had just said.

"Is he just waltzing through their small-arms fire?" she asked quietly her own voice starting to crack a bit.

"Yep…"

**Crack…**

"Did he just Bitch-Slap –"

"Yep," interrupted Kaiden once again.

**Crunch!**

"Did he just…" her voice trailing off as the giant stomped towards them.

Now Ashley Williams was no coward… but after watching this giant squash a Geth like a cockroach, well… She wanted to be as far away as possible from… '_**It.**_' As if he could read her mind… the giant stopped moving. He looked towards them for a moment… seemingly staring through her, he then looked towards an opening to her left… and just strolled ever so calmly away.

"What? Where are you going?" she yelled after the blue giant.

"That's a loading dock for the Space Port," informed Kaiden calmly… _a bit too calmly_, thought Ashley.

Ashley turned to her – 'Technically' – superior officer and asked – read as 'I ordered' – "well then shouldn't we go after him?"

"Our priority is the Beacon –"

"And just where do you think they would store said Beacon, Mister Alenko?" asked Shepard with authority, it could be said that she was channelling her inner Captain William Bligh.

"Taking point," declared Ashley interrupting the growing tension between Shepard and the Sentinel, forestalling any possible 'keel-hauling' of the 'LT' to a… later date.

She stepped away from the simmering and advanced toward the archway built into the embankment. She was flanked – surprisingly – by Kaiden as they advanced along a shot open-topped tunnel. They came out at the top of a short flight of stairs only to encounter an open space, part loading dock and part open-air storage bay. One side open to the air… exposing a heavily irradiated field of rubble a few hundred meters away in the valley bellow, either end of the platform was capped by vertical metal retaining walls. They advanced down a flight of stairs with a rather beat-up looking Shepard bringing up the rear. They advanced between the containers following Kaiden's Omni-Tool, Ashley had point… and she rounded the last corner first, and… well she could only stare.

"It wasn't doing that before…" she mumbled weakly, her voice as calm as possible given the… strange – _**er**_ – circumstances.

The Beacon – which was already quiet ancient and alien looking – had gotten even more eldritch… the best was to explain the change was… _**well**_… that would be because… it was glowing eerily… **Green** to be specific…

The silent giant stood right in front it and Shepard, obviously, wasn't going for subtle when she asked him, "What the hell did you do?"

She then reinforced the accusation by levelling her sole remaining weapon – her pistol – on one of the lenses of its helmet. To say Ashley was impressed was an understatement… Shepard didn't flinch; she'd just strolled through hell and here she was taking on this engine of destruction. Interestingly the blue machine didn't move… in fact it made absolutely no threatening moves at all.

With an unexpected sense of diplomacy the giant responded, a synthesised rasp distorting his voice, "The Beacon was active before I arrived… Commander."

Seemingly oblivious to the blue giants attempt reconciliation, Shepard ploughed onwards with her one woman war on diplomacy.

"Why. Are. You. Here," she declared lowering her weapon slightly.

Sensing the tension leaving the – relatively peaceful – encounter, Ashley moved past them to secure the Loading Dock and surrounding area. She continued to ignore her Commanding Officers attempt at interrogation – she had to laugh at that – of a machine… _that woman just seemed to be getting weirder and weirder… _

"Clear…" she called out, and finding no further contacts, regrouped with the rest of the Squad.

She threaded through the cargo crates, randomly scattered across the Dock haphazardly, only to find Shepard still – well… in essence 'get water from a stone' while– interrogating the robot. Kaiden – on the other hand – was leaning on the railing looking down into the irradiated crater that had once been a lush valley. The damage had probably been caused by the discharge from that giant-squids drive core… and as Ashley's eyes swept across the desolation, she saw that little remained of the small hamlet that once stood there. The Eastern Hab-Spire still stood but… all the hydroponic domes and urban homes that stood between the Space Port and the Spire… were nothing but irradiated slag. It was sad… the homes remained… but their food… their businesses… their livelihood… it was all gone… It was sad… the colony was as good as dead…

With a shuddered she brought her gaze back to the Dock Platform… a shiver running down her spine at the thought of the dead… her comrades… the civvies… Turning back to the Beacon she immediately had a… epiphany. No-one had 'secured' the Beacon… therefore if she were to say… **'Secure It'** herself she could get closer… and once she got closer she could – technically – 'gawk' at it…

_Once it gets off world I'll probably never get to see it again…_

Which seemed like a perfectly good idea until…

"**Commander!"**

* * *

Shepard was getting more and more agitated by the second, hell there was higher odds of squeezing water from a stone, than getting a straight answer from this… this… **Machine!** Hell he was infuriating… he just seemed to exude this quiet stoic aura… _**crap**_… and the fact that he seemed to be trying to win an award for 'The Most Cryptic Answers Given in a Single Conversation' Award, didn't help matters at all.

"Why are you here," she asked – **again** – with frustration, hoping to get just a little more information this time.

"Orders," he stated, his synthesiser grabbling the word as if savouring it and the irritation it caused.

"Okay… no help there," she muttered under her breath, "whose orders… Alliance Command?"

"No," informed the Machine being equally as eloquent once more.

"Who built you?" she asked shrugging off the previous cryptic answer.

"No-one… I am not a machine," he replied evenly.

"Where –"

"**Commander!"**

Shepard spun round to find Ashley hovering above the ground… and being dragged toward the beacon. The green energy was twisted into a series vicious looking tendrils, swirling around the Beacon… some tendrils had snaked outward, coiling round Ashley and dragging her backwards.

The giant forgotten, adrenalin surging through her veins, she charged towards the trapped Marine.

She grabbed the arm reaching out toward her, with as much power that remained within her…

Pulled with all her might, fighting against the twisting and snapping tendrils of energy…

With one last great heave, the tendrils of energy, stretched… and finally snapped…

Pivoting round on one foot, she cast Ashley away from the Beacon to safety…

Relief surged through her as the blue giant caught the flailing Marine…

The relief was short lived, as the Eldritch energies began to swirl…

Encircling her arms and legs, it touched something within her…

Her Biotics began to flare, uncontrollably, lifting her up…

And into the air, dragging her… closer and closer…

Towards the Beacon, pain began to flare within…

And throughout her mind, touching ever part…

Within the confines of her tortured mind…

Searing pain reached out throughout…

The entirety of her bruised skull…

Burning, searing, cauterising…

Obliterating, destroying…

Breaking into the…

Her mind…

"Arghhhhh!"

A scream was torn from her throat, as her entire being was crucified by the pale emerald energies… The last thought that went through her tormented mind, was surprisingly not about herself, it was about Ashley…

_How accident prone can one bloody woman possible be?_

Before all thought ceased to exist within the confines of her mind, as the Beacon decided – arbitrarily – to implant a blindingly painful vision directly into her mind… before Shepard – unable to withstand further punishment – blacked out from the blinding pain.

* * *

The stoic Sergeant Sigmund was… equally… afflicted…

After all the trails and tribulation… within the Webway…

After the trauma of the soul-rending deaths of his Brothers…

After the agony of his transit and arrival through the Warp…

After the overwhelming pain of the Twin psychic pulses…

After all this and more, Sigmund tortured mind had just about…

… enough presence of mind to drop to one knee to catch the flailing pink marine before –

The eldritch Beacon pulsed…

The overwhelming pain…

In a final crescendo…

Crashed through…

His mind…

He looked up…

And saw at least a hundred kilos of Biotically charged muscle and armour…

Sailing with the force of fully loaded Rhino straight towards his skull…

"Oh Bugger –"

**Crack!**

The impact was the final straw, and without even so much as a whimper…

He tumbled over backwards, his poor tortured mind deciding that…

It had, had enough… and closed up shop for the next twelve…

Or so hours, drifting off into a nice dream filled twilight…

* * *

**Dreamscape – Sigmund**

Sigmund awoke, with a start, to find himself lying faced down upon a plateau of dreary grey granite. He slowly, and with a measured pace, turned his head to the right to find… a flat grey granite cliff rising up… up… and away disappearing far above him. He turned to his left, while rising up onto his knees, and…

An endless expanse of slate grey – silvery – clouds met his gaze, stretching from one distant horizon to another. A Cloud Ocean… A roiling Sea of Storms… extending as far as his mortals eyes could see.

_I recognise this world…  
_

He gazed upward and beheld the striking beauty of the Cerulean Warp Storms that plagued the upper reaches of the atmosphere, encircling the planet in its entirety. He turned to survey is surroundings, to find that he stood upon the edge of cliff, a mile above the roiling storms bellow. He raised his right hand to the Vox-Link on the side of his helm, and…

**Click**… nothing.

The Line was dead… there were no signals within range…

He tried to reboot his Armour systems, and… nothing.

He reached out to examine his Armour and Equipment.

He couldn't unlock his Bolter from the mag-rail on his arm.

He reached for the hilt of his Power Sword and pulled –

He couldn't disengage the blade from its mechanical scabbard.

With a low growl of frustration, he dismissed his malfunctioning equipment and began to examine the mountainside he found himself standing upon. He stood upon a small outcropping made of cold and barren granite, carved from the jagged side of a nearly vertical cliff. He gazed along the impossibly straight – slightly inclined – pathway alongside the cliff… it was flat and broad – wide enough to drive a Fell-Blade down.

Seeing little choice he marched along the pathway up the side of a mountain… _this path isn't natural_… it was too straight… and even stuck upon this barren mountainside it was well maintained…

_This isn't how I remember it…_

He traced a gauntlet along the cliff to his right, his fingers drumming along the exposed Plasteel re-enforcement rods jutting from the Cliffside. He noticed the blocked door-ways along the side of the pathway… he had never noticed the regularity of the 'Caves' along the side of this mountainside. He had never seen these places through his Gene-Hanced sight before… before he left this World…

_**His World…**_

He kept up a steady pace along the mountain path… seeing the World in a way he'd never seen it before… through the Eyes of an Astartes. He noticed every crevice and every seam that held up this man-made Mountain range. He saw the artifice… the false structure that lay beneath… and the all too clear signs of decay…

He rounded the crest of the mountain… and spied a… shape along the edge of the cliff-edge. He focused his incredible sight upon the shape – a hundred metres distant – and the shape resolved into a figure… a small figure. In a sudden moment of vertigo inducing speed that propelled him toward the figure… and after a moment of realisation, he began to understand… This was neither Real nor a Memory… this was a _**Vision Quest**_… Here he stood upon the peak of a barren mountain, thrust up through the Raging Cloud Sea… grasping at the Heavens and before him facing the Maelstrom… was a small child. It was hard to tell how old he was, all children were small and diminutive compared to an Astartes. The child's gaze was locked upon the swirling stormy cloud sea bellow, seemingly oblivious to his presence, his thoughts joined the Childs as he to pondered the Storms bellow that were filled with rage and thunder…

Sigmund tried to focus upon this ragged little figure before him; he searched his vast encyclopaedic memory trying to find even the smallest mention of this feral Child. He searched through his vast Eidetic Mind, through memory after memory… hour after hour… year after year… spanning more than a Century of experience… Nothing.

_I need more data… I need more information…_

He approached the small ragged child – standing on the cliff – with caution. He raised his arm… he was less than a metre away from the child when –

The ground began to rumble…

The mountain began to tremble…

And the atmosphere became charged…

**ROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRR!**

The roar was primordial…

The roar echoed through him…

The roar passed through his Chest…

The roar touched every part of his soul…

From within the roiling ocean of storms, arose a silvery winged serpent…

Its maw… a thin jagged crack running along its sharp reptilian skull…

Its snake-like eyes – at least a dozen of them – its piercing gaze…

Burning… all consuming… a hunger, festering within it…

**Thump…**

The over-pressure bore down upon them…

**Thump…**

Soul crushing…

**Thump…**

Bone breaking…

**Thump…**

With each beat…

**Thump…**

Of one of it's…

**Thump…**

Six wings…

**Thump…**

**ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Its psychic presence…

**Thump… **

So powerful…

**Thump… **

Bearing down…

**Thump… **

Waiting…

**Thump… **

To crush the weak…

**Thump…**

And yet the Child remained unbowed…

**Thump…**

The Thunder Drake…

**Thump…**

The echoes of…

**Thump…**

Psychic-Roar…

**Thump…**

Still ringing across…

**Thump…**

The mountain peaks…

**Thump…**

It turned toward the child…

**Thump…**

It's piercing gaze…

**Thump…**

Filled with malevolence…

**Thump…**

Time seemed to stand still… the child stood… his arms thrown wide… energy wreathing his diminutive form…

**Thump…**

Energy arching between his fingers… his hands raised… clawing at the – twisted kaleidoscope that was the – Heavens…

**Thump… **

He drew his arm back… a glistening orb of energy… snapping around his fist… the world around him held its breath…

**Thump…**

With a great heave… he cast the blistering ball of energy… searing a path towards the feral behemoth…

**Thump…**

The orb illuminated its majestic form… its shadow dwarfing the mountain bellow it… its tail touching the cloud sea bellow…

**Crack!**

The twisting energy struck the beast… the Warp Energy earthing into its serpentine form…

**Thump…**

The blow didn't even seem to faze the Leviathan… it only seemed to anger it further… its malevolent gaze… filling with rage…

**Thump…**

The enraged beast drew closer and closer… toward the jagged cliff… its psychic presence becoming more and more overwhelming…

**Thump…**

Dwarfing the small child… becoming smaller and smaller… a psychic giant trying to crush a metaphysical mouse…

**Thump…**

Little did the Psychic Leviathan realise… that the small child would be the Harbinger of its Doom…

**Bang-woosh…**

From across the mountain… along dozens of winding paths… harpoons arched… unerringly towards its flanks…

**Bang-woosh… Bang-woosh…**

The child never stopped casting crackling orbs toward the silvered hide of the great Drake… its flanks becoming bloody…

**SCREEEEEEEEEEE!**

Its pained screams filling the air… only now did the crackling orbs of energy cause it pain… as the orbs splashed across its hide…

**SCREEEEEEEEE!**

As the energy earthed itself along the harpoon cables… Sigmund turned… his eyes travelling down the cabling…

**SCREEEEEEE!**

His eyes alighting upon the teams of Hunters, manning the crew-served Harpoon Cannons…

**SCREEEEE!**

The Hunters were swathed in furs… held together by belts embossed with eldritch runes…

**SCREEE!**

Energy crackled along their lines, striking the crew of Hunter… the energy arching along the runes… washing over them harmlessly…

**ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Another blood-curdling **Roar** echoed over the mountains… not a single ragged figure stopped task or flinched from the psychic blow…

**BOOOOOM!**

The mountain shook, as the beast thrashed… trying rip the Plasteel Rods driven into its Flesh…

**BOOOOM!**

And then the Child began to speak, his voice was infused with power… carrying across the winds to every ear upon the mountain…

**BOOOM!**

"I know not… all that may be coming… but be it what will… I'll go to it Laughing!"

**BOOM!**

He punctuated each line – of the ancient battle hymn – with a crackling blow to the beasts flank…

**Silence…**

Time stood still… as the rounded Hunter-Mechs withdrew from the battlefield… their treads grinding along the littered paths of the granite mountainside… Drawing the beast in as the lines grew taunt… drawing it closer and closer toward the ragged mountainside…

**ROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!**

With one last soul-shattering cry, the great Wyrm collapsed across the jagged mountainside, its dark vitriolic blood staining the mountainside as black as pitch…

A roar arose from the throats of the ragged hunters, that stood there lining the twisting paths on the mountainside… a **challenge**, declared skywards… toward the Heavens! Their cries challenging the long dead Gods that lay above… beyond the vast Warp storms that marooned them upon this dead world. The mood did not seem to extend toward the Witch-Child… he seemed to embody a sense of resigned finality… as he approached the dying beast… _**He had a part to play**_… its broken form lay there cast haphazardly across the jagged mountainside. He climbed up the jagged mountain towards its majestic head… jagged rasps of warm air still escaped from its bloodied maw… its once silvered mane of luxurious fur and obsidian spikes… tainted black by the black vitriol seeping from its veins. He looked the mighty Wyrm in the largest of its half-dozen Serpentine Orbs, staring straight into its ancient soul… their gazes locked as he raised a crackling fist, wreathed in eldritch energies, preparing to deliver the final killing blow…

**Crack!**

He slammed his fist forward… through the glistening orb of the once mighty beast… with a final shuddering – hoarse – gasp… the beast fell still… its suffering at an end… the sacrifice that it had made would not be forgotten by the Witch-Child whom struck the killing blow. With practised ease, the Child began to move through the required Rituals, a myriad of which came with the success of the Great Hunt, that he was required to fulfil by… Powers beyond his understanding… he understood the importance the Hunt, just a single one of these ancient beasts would feed the entire Clan throughout the arduous years of the High Hell-Winter… the never-ending Psychic-Storms that swept across the Planet… that would ease into Low Winter four years from now…

"Harbinger… the Watcher wishes to see you," spoke one of the ragged Hunters, his battered helm obscuring his features.

_Hmmmmn… Why didn't I notice his approach…_ wondered Sigmund, a tad reproachfully, inattentiveness just wouldn't do… it was imperative that he maintain a constant… _**Vigilance**_…

But to Sigmund's surprise the Witch-Child, while seemingly oblivious to the Giant within their midst, ignored the Hunter… and continued studiously with his appointed task. Sigmund fell back into his memories trying to find any mention of this Child or even the Hunter that stood next to him. He searched… he sought… and after what seemed like an age… he almost found what he was seeking… However when the Child turned to face the Hunter – whom hadn't moved an inch – his gaze locked upon the face of the Witch-Child that stood before him.

That face unlocked a memory…

His face was gaunt.

His face was drawn.

His face was dirty.

But…

His eyes… they glowed.

With an inner… _**burning**_… flame.

His grin… was wolfish.

Predatory… filled with savage glee.

His face… he'd seen it before.

It was a face he knew all to well…

"Of course, Mig'nar," replied the Witch-Boy cavalierly, "he'll probably complain that 'you didn't need to attract every Drake on this side of the planet' or 'your final blow was overly dramatic!'… Well… let's go see what the old ball and chain wants then…"

With a chuckle the Hunter led the sarcastic Boy away from the carcase of the dead Thunder Drake chatting all the way… the Hunter speaking with a sense of deference toward the Child that seemed… strange… almost… fearful…

Sigmund ignored the rest of the conversation… his mind struggling with what he had just seen… he couldn't understand what he was seeing… or with what he was being shown. He wracked his mind for answers… over and over, trying to understand… _**why?**_

He knew that face…

He had seen it before…

Every single time he looked in a Mirror…

"What do you want from me? What do you want me to see?" he begged, Sigmund's eyes searching the Heavens, pleading for answers, "What do you want me to do?"

Turning away from the Witch-Child…

Turning away from the primitive Hunters…

Turning away from the ancient Land Caravans…

Turning away from the carcase of the Thunder Drake…

Turning away from the decaying Mountainside bellow his feet…

He cast his gaze across the Sea of Storms… towards the other jagged mountains that were thrust upward… from within the swirling cauldron of Thunder and Lightning. His eyes were drawn from decaying peak to withered shard… and for the first time… he truly saw this world… not with the eyes of a child… but with those of a man that had seen far to much… and he saw this World as he had never seen it before…

He had only learnt to truly see… once he had left this crumbling dead world… but still…

The realization of what those mountains across from him were…

The realization of what this world must have been…

The realization of what lay beneath his feet…

Those Mountains…

They weren't natural…

They weren't a bulwark…

They weren't a fortification…

They weren't the eternal realm…

They weren't the bones of giants…

They weren't a refugee from the Seas…

They weren't a gift from the ancestors…

They were the History of a Dead World…

A testament to the Graves of untold Billions…

With trepidation Sigmund looked at the rotting ground beneath his feet… and he saw the decaying Adamantium Skeleton of an ancient Highway… running between the man-made Spires of… He looked back and with his Gene-Hanced sight, and beheld the rotting majesty of the very tip of a millennia long dead Spire…

And at that moment he understood… he still did not know why… but he understood… What he had been shown… what he had been given… was… _**perspective.**_

What lay beneath his feet was not a mountain… _**no**_ it was the corpse of a Long-Dead Hive-City… and in the distance he could see another… and another… hundreds upon thousands of them… with a series of arching thin mega-highways connecting them… like a delicate – intricate – spiders web…

The perspective had given him answers… but it had given him so many more questions… above and beyond all of them… a single thought arose. Growing louder and louder, until that single thought was a cacophony that drowned out all else… and at it's peak… at its crescendo it demanded to be heard… but Sigmund had no answers for it… he didn't know… he couldn't know… the answer to the question that was burning away inside of him…

_**Just how many innocents had died here on this Techno-Barbarian World during the Old Night?**_

_**Just how many innocents had died here on the Witching-World of Sycorax?**_

_**Just how many innocents had died here on his Home World?**_

_**Just how many innocents had died here?**_

* * *

**Dreamscape Shepard**

_There were things… shadowy… hard to see… suffering…_

**There was a man, trapped… chained upon a gilded throne…**

_Metal over taking Flesh._

**A Man commanding the Metal.**

_Minds being Tortured._

**Souls being Damned.**

_Blood being spilt._

**Daemons being slain.**

_The Screeching of the Damned._

**Cries of the Defiant.**

_Eyes that spoke of Eons of Malice._

**And a lone figure… suffering in Pain.**

The… flashes were confusing… jumbled… broken. It just… kept playing… over and over again… trying to show her… something… she just didn't understand… she couldn't… they just didn't make sense… it hurt… and with a gasp…

Shepard awoke… filled with pain.

Every nerve, of every cell…

Of every single fibre of her very being.

It felt like her very soul, was being ripped apart… bit by bit… piece by piece… And then… **nothing.** The pain left her, and she felt… cold. No… not cold… not completely anyway… no… she felt empty… and as she felt around… she found that she was lying on something hard… her cheek was pressed against its cold surface. With some difficulty… Shepard pried open her heavy eyelids… and realised that the cold feeling running through her cheek… was caused by the gold plated decking that lay beneath her. The pain had sapped her strength… she struggled to lift herself before collapsing weakly back onto the flooring…

_I suppose no-one would really mind if I lay here for five more minutes,_ she thought tiredly… slowly… letting her eyes drift closed, until –

"_**AAAAAAHHHHHH!"**_

A Horrifying… blood-curdling scream filled her ears…

Drowning out every thought running through her head…

The rapid roar of cannon fire filled the air around her…

And the inhuman… screams… of things unheard…

Terrified her… filling her thoughts with death, and –

Shepard scrambled to her feet… and was struck speechless…

A torrent of emotion surged through her, twisting and turning…

Surging between fear and awe inspiring… and horrifying…

Before her eyes a massive chamber opened up… expanding outward beyond her mere-mortal comprehension… a perfect sphere that stretched outward and around blurring into the distance… she looked downward… and with sudden realisation found herself standing upon a huge disc-like platform floating impressively in the centre of this immense gilded chamber…

Her awe was tempered by her horror…

Her breath caught painfully in her throat…

She could barely comprehend what she saw…

She stood in the middle of a titanic battlefield…

As blood and flame consumed the air around her…

Nightmare made real, charged a line of gilded giants…

Each gilded giants carried a massive glimmering halberd…

That scythe through the horde of bloodied daemons, with ease…

But… for every horned terror that they struck down… mercilessly…

Another ten would take its place, brutally… biting… snapping… tearing…

For every tentacle monstrosity that was cut to pieces, torn apart, limb from limb…

Another hundred of those twisted… daemons… would arise in its place, snapping and tearing…

But… when one of the gilded giants fell… nothing and no-one would step forward to take their place…

Morbidly… Shepard's eyes were drawn to the corpse of one of these Gilded Giants that lay at her feet. His armour was… angelic… his majestic knightly arms and armour, were embossed with golden laurels and gilded eagles… which surmounting intricately woven patterns that embossed every single plate of his mighty form. This fallen seraphim… this mighty paladin… that lay before her, was an awe-inspiring sight of opulence and splendour… and yet… this gilded angel had fallen… it had been broken… His armour had been scraped and scarred… the finish was marred and scorched. The body beneath… she couldn't see it… the only sign of life that lay beneath its mighty façade… was a thin trickle of sickly pink-blood that dripped from between the buckled armoured plates of this mighty Fallen Angel… Shepard was drawn from her morbid vigil… as her ears suddenly depressurised with a popped… filling her pained ears with a sudden terrible noise…

**FOOOOOOOOOOM!  
**

All rational thought was drowned out by the deafening roar of a battery of those hand-held cannons, tearing the air apart… and obliterating all semblance of rational thought. Shepard – her hands clutching the sides of her head, covering her ears – swept her gaze across the chamber… desperately trying to find out which one of the Gilded Giants was carrying one of those hand-held Cannons… her eyes swept across them… she was completely confused… she couldn't spot any of those boxy guns with their sickle-shaped magazines…

**FOOOOOOOOOOM!**

Her head snapped to the right… her jaw dropping like a lead brick… what Shepard saw, stunned… frightened… and overall amazed the Veteran Commander… From the wrist of a nearby Giant, a twin cones of blistering light spewed forth… wherever he pointed his wrist, a half-dozen creatures exploded… leaving behind a bloody mist… and he wasn't the only one… up and down the line… dozens of giants raised their wrists… tearing a gaping hole through the advancing horde. And just when Shepard thought she couldn't be more amazed, she spotted another Gilded Giant… with a massive golden-boxy-pack… and in his hands was a Huge Weapon… so big… she was surprised that it wasn't mounted on some armoured vehicle… she wouldn't have been surprised if such a weapon was meant to be mounted upon a Mako…

**ROOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!**

Shepard was driven to her knees… by the deafening noise… her eyes locked on the Gilded Giant as his massive Cannon tore massive gaping holes… one after another… through hundreds of Daemons simultaneously. She was almost blinded by the furious stream of light that tore from the Muzzle of his… Gun. Suddenly silence descended… an after-image burnt into her eyes… While she tried to regain her sight, she saw… an inky black mist… swirling around and between the gilded giants. She wondered if this was some new form of horror that the Giants had yet to fight… To her horror – as she watched frozen in terror – an eldritch horror… a nightmare made of Fangs and Claws… and bloodied sinewy muscle… materialised behind one of the embattled giants.

"No…no…nononono," she began to splutter in panic, "look out behin –"

But to her amazement, before her warning had even left her lips, the shifting – swirling – shadows surrounding the giants had coalesced into a shrouded figure. An armoured figure… a Feminine figure… and that woman was carrying a very… **big**… sword. Her blade seemed to be intent incarnate… glittering and ethereal… a weapon of pure and honed death. She stood her ground, facing down the malevolent daemon… she waited for the nightmare to approach… she raised her blade… and –

The daemon stumbled… as it approached the shadowy woman… it seemed to lose its shape… its form flickering and breaking apart… becoming little more than a memory… a wisp of thought… undeterred the warrior woman advanced upon the faltering daemon and with a mighty heave she swung he glimmering blade… dashing aside the smoky – wisp-like – nightmare… sweeping the monster away into oblivion to be forgotten… and unlike the Monsters that the giants had killed – whose screams were etched and burned into her very soul – the Forgotten… just seemed to fade away with little more than a Whimper…

Transfixed… Shepard continued to watch in awe the spectacle that played out before her as the Shadows and Giants danced across the field of death… dashing apart the nightmare and casting them from memory… Shepard was struck speechless observing these mighty being as they _**dealt death to any of these… Daemons… that dared transgress this Holy Place…**_

_Wait… where did that come from_, wondered Shepard confusion tingeing her frightened and befuddled thoughts.

Confused Shepard began to wonder just where she was…

_What is this place?_

Her mind ached trying to remember where she had been before…

_How did I get here?_

But more importantly… and most crucially…

_Why haven't those nightmare attacked me?_

Shepard turned away from the deathly spectacle, the nightmarish dance continuing to play out behind her… seemingly forgotten, and turned her gaze towards the platform, upon which she now stood… with a critical eye she began to examine the plateau upon which this titanic – apocalyptic – battle unfolded. But before the powerful Biotic could inspect the wreckage of the Battlefield… she had a sudden epiphany…

Here she was in the middle of a battlefield… un-armoured… un-armed… just standing here… shell-shocked and vulnerable in the middle of this cataclysmic battle…

_Why am I not dead?_

Shepard turned back round to –

"Whoa…," Shepard croaked as she leapt out of the way… as a Gilded Giant sailed past her, right where she had just been standing.

With a roar and a mighty heave he swept his halberd through the space she had just been standing in, smashing apart a nightmare made of fangs and tentacles, splitting it in half… black vitriol spewing forth from its immortal wounds. He slaughtered the creature with a single swipe, which in reality would've been powerful enough to bisect a Mako…

"Well, now wha –"

She looked down, a confused frown creasing her brow, as she had what could best be described as an out-of-body experience. With her eyes downcast Shepard examined how her knees and ankles seemed to have disappeared into the chest-plate of one of the fallen gilded giants. The next words that were to be uttered from Shepard's mouth were filled with power, and would ring out across the entire length of Galactic history for eons to come… they were words that would be spoken by visionaries and luminaries for centuries to come, spoken upon the Eves of their greatest discoveries…

"Well that's weird…"

With a raised eyebrow, Shepard drew a cautious eye over the macabre scene around her knees, at which point she noticed the angular writing upon the giants breast-plate… she couldn't quite read it because it was obscured by her knees…

_Weird… it kinda looks like Latin_, thought Shepard in confusion, her features creased by a frown as she pondered this latest – strangest – development.

This development brought a deepening crease to Shepard's strained brow; this was obviously some sort of vivid dream, or something… Looking down she once again tried to figure what else she was missing…

"Strange… that can't be right," Shepard mumbled aloud…

A little tid-bit Shepard had learnt – from those Damn Alliance 'Head-Doctors' – was that it was physically impossible – and scientifically proven – that you couldn't read or even see the written word within a dream. So…

"If this isn't a Dream… what is it?" Shepard spoke out-loud, questioning the Galaxy around her.

_**A Memory**_… spoke a powerful voice, which by-passed her ears… touching and reverberating throughout the deepest **darkest** parts of her mind.

The shear amount of **Power** contained within those simple words… drove Shepard to her knees… she struck the ground hard… the sharp pain in her legs was merely a footnote… forgotten by the all consuming power of that **Voice**… that snaked through her pained mind. Her hands clasping her aching head, her panicked eyes spun across the Chamber… in a desperate search for the **Source** of that **Voice**…

Through clenched teeth, she growled… she pleaded, "Who… Are… You?"

She barely choked and gasped out that desperate plea, she just… couldn't… ignore the pain… it was too much… too much… and just when it started to ease –

_**I have many names**_… spoke the **Voice **once more…

And yet again the immense **Power** contained within that **Voice** drove almost all the remaining rational thought from her pain addled mind. The world blurred and sped around her… passing so fast that she couldn't make out… anything… and with the pain blinding almost all her senses… she didn't immediately notice when the World stopped moving around her…

_**I am the Sigillite…**_

_**The First Lord of Terra…**_

_**The Right-Hand of the Emperor…**_

This time the pain was slow in coming… cautiously, Shepard raised her head… she found that she – strangely – cast a shadow… Behind her she felt… something… growing… getting bigger… in fright her head snapped round… and the Colour drained from her face… as she beheld the – Awe-Inspiring – source of the **Voice**…

In the exact centre of the gilded Sphere…

Atop a mighty golden faced pyramid…

Atop a giant angular gilded Throne…

Sat a man… enshrouded in a tattered Cloak…

Shackled to the throne by means arcane…

Wreathed in twisting eldritch energies…

His body twisted and broken by pain unimaginable…

Energies flowing through his mortal remains…

And yet he still had enough cognisance to…

**Speak…**

_**I am Malcador… and there is much that I must tell you… Shepard… and a mighty Tale that needs to be told…**_

* * *

**Codex Entry: Space Marine Recruitment**

"… **It is hard to understand the motives of many of the Post-Humans that make up the Astartes Legions… they have abilities we can barely comprehend… they have survived horrors that would break lesser men… and yet they willing sacrifice their lives for people they've never met…**

**To understand them, we need to understand what type of Child the Legions recruit… we need to understand where they come from… we need to understand the societies that the Space Marines are recruited from… we need to understand the training they have endured… the changes they have undergone… only then can we truly begin to comprehend their motives…**

**Each recruit is the best of their world, the Legion can spend months searching a single world for a few hundred Aspirants and of those less than twenty can make the cut… sometimes it is as few as… one. These children often come from the lowest rungs of Galactic Society; from the back streets of Omega, to the most inhospitable of Worlds, from the No-Man's-Land of New Compton to the under-city of Neo-Seoul, to the most deadly of Death Worlds within Imperial Space. These worlds breed the hardiest and most enduring Humans in the Galaxy; even before their induction they often belong to a 'Warrior Culture' within their respective societies… even before they join the warrior culture within the Legion.**

**It is therefore hard to explain to those within the Legion, the reason for such a public outcry by the citizens within Alliance Space and Citadel Society… it is also hard to explain to the majority of Citadel species why Imperial citizens are willing… nay proud… to send their Sons through the Trials to become an Initiate… and consider it a badge of honour to have a family member that participated within the Trials… even if that person was to expire in the course of the Trial…**

**According to anecdotal evidence the XIII Legion is possibly unique in its methods of Recruitment and Re-enforcement… unlike other Legions – whom recruit from only a single World, very rarely venturing to others – the Ultramarines recruit from dozens if not hundreds of Worlds – and unlike the other Legions few if any of these world are considered Death Worlds – and send these potential Recruits to a centralised Training Barracks. They also ensure that they have a large number of Neophytes (Scout Marines) in reserve – exact numbers are uncertain, but – it is believed that there are enough Scout Marine in waiting to replace the loss of several Companies (approximately 1000 Marines per Company) within days…"**

**(Extract from 'The Many Masks of Trans-Human Men' by Jacqueline Naught)**

**Space Marine Recruitment consists of three distinct phases:**

**Aspirants****; are on average between 6 and 12 years old, they compete in a series of Trials unique to each Legion and sometimes the Trials are unique to the Planet the Aspirants are drawn from. Once they pass the Trials and a Battery of Genetic screening they pass into the next phase.**

**Initiates****; or Neophytes are Aspirants that have passed the Trials and have started along the path to becoming fully-fledged Space Marines. Once they reach the Legions Fortress Monastery they are screened for any and all injuries and deformities… and once cleared they are begin the process of Augmentation and the most Brutal Training in the known Universe. After a short period of Brutal Basic Training they are deployed alongside fully-fledge Space Marine 'Battle-Brothers', in units called Scout Squads (of 5 to 10 Men) led by a Veteran Scout Sergeant. It is during this period that they receive their genetic enhancements and gain experience on the field of battle.**

**Battle-Brothers****; is the final step for many within the Legion hierarchy, and is only achieved once all of the Initiates Implants and Genetic Enhancements have matured and the Initiates superiors believe that he is ready for further advancement. Once they have been promoted they are provided with a set of Power Armour tailored to their exact measurements. **

**It is not unheard of for Initiates to refuse advancement, and choose to remain within the Scout Companies of the Legion. Most Veteran Scout Sergeant are such individuals, and have spent Centuries honing their craft and teaching aspiring Initiates.**

* * *

**Okay... here's another Chapter hope you enjoy... and straight to a little house keeping... one is a little screw up of mine... I made a mention of an OC (Taldeer) being lost upon the Path of the Outcast... I haven't managed to read any Novels were they go into depth about the Eldar (Dark Eldar maybe but not the Good-Ones) all my info on the Eldar Path was scavenged from a Myriad of Sites, Blogs, Posts and Suspect Wiki's and as such I inferred from the Info I had that when an Acolyte of an Eldar Shrine reached a certain point - ie. a leadership role - they became 'Lost' on that Path... I then assumed that a Pathfinder had a similar Leadership Role and... Weeeeeeelll... I will correct that it at the next Re-Edit... Two I am currently writing Chapter 9, and in between the writing thereof I typed up Chapter 5 (which you just read) and Chapter 6 which I will post on 30/11/2013... and I noticed how long it took me to do so. This might not seem important but Chapter 7 and Chapter 8 are so large I will have to release each of them in two parts to retain a the sense consistency I've cultivated within my Posts... This might not seem to be a problem but I want both Parts typed-up before I post the First Part... because its only at the End of a Chapter that I can gauge the Flow of the Writing and make any changes were necessary. If I already posted the First Part I can't go back and change it sooo... By the end of November I will notify you if I am going to do any Posts during December... And Finally I am thinking of doing that Re-Edit I mentioned earlier during December... so I may or may not take down the Story and Re-Post it during that time... also I may upgrade my Computer between now and February so there maybe some Hiccups as well.**

**A little note for those who noticed the Mysterious Eldar Pathfinders name... I basically went through all the Horus Heresy Novels and wrote a list of all the names... I then added to the List any names I remembered from the Games I played and any other Warhammer Novels I could get my hands on... So... Taldeer was one of my favorite Eldar Farseers but in this Story I wanted her to be more Mysterious... and the other Farseer will be Mischievous... Oh the fun I'm gonna have with this... Read the Blurb... If Sigmund has a Sense of Humor... I sure as hell am gonna create an Eldar that's not an Emo...**

**Anyhoooo... Expect the Next Update on the 31/11/2013**

**I posted this a little late... but it was still Friday the 15th when I did... Pweeezzzeeeee! Review!**


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